


Keep it Rolling

by ullc



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banshee Lydia Martin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Older Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, by a lot lol, mature for last chapter, only season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-30 13:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12654036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ullc/pseuds/ullc
Summary: Stiles started running, far away from this side of the woods as soon as he caught scent of a feral omega. Unfortunately, with his morals high and heavy, he turned around when he realized there was a human out here too. There was a kid, bent over a tree and wheezing while clutching his side. His mop of brown hair shot up at the sound of footsteps, instinctively skittering away. Stiles put his hands up, “Oh, dude, that thing messed you up bad. Do you have an inhaler on you? No? Come on, let me get you out of here and fixed up -- my place is really close, I can stitch you up there.”





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles lived on the edge of the woods and the city. His house was modest, and a little old, but allowed him to feel the drum of life from the people without absolutely suffocating in it. Beacon Hills was surrounded by woods, the only inhabited stretch of land for miles so it would make sense that those who are born here stay, and those that pass through are always a little like someone who found an oasis in a desert. Surprised and happy before realizing how little water is in the hole. 

It was the perfect place to frequent every eighty years or so, with most everyone that knew him before had died. He had recently called up the electrical company to turn back on his power, something about him coming into inheritance on this house. It smelled stale and dusty the first week he was there, making him throw open the windows during the day and bring in some house plants. Stiles reasoned that a house full of dead things could use some livening up. 

He would often wander the woods, on any night but always on the full moon, looking up at the sky and going nowhere in particular. It was one of those nights, a slight chill in the air that kept his skin cool, when he caught wind of the creature. And just like that, the nice stroll was over. 

Stiles started running, far away from this side of the woods as soon as he smelled a feral omega. He wanted to be boarded up inside his ruin protected home before the wolf ever realized he was out. 

Unfortunately, with his morals high and heavy, he turned around when he caught scent of human blood. He was by no means a good person, but curiosity and hope that the person had survived had him freeze in place before jogging towards the smell. 

There was a kid, bent over a tree and wheezing while clutching his side. Stiles could hear the tell-tale of rattling in his chest, the all too familiar sound of an asthmatic. No way he’d outrun the omega if it came to -- getting out of the woods and back to his place before the omega came back for more blood was basically null. Stiles made sure to crunch the leaves under his feet as he came closer, not wanting to shock the kid into his episode becoming more aggressive. 

The mop of brown hair shot up at the sound of footsteps, instinctively skittering away. Stiles put his hands up, “Oh, dude, something messed you up bad. Do you have an inhaler on you? No? Come on, let me get you out of here and fixed up -- my place is really close, I can stitch you up there.” 

The boy looked at him, weak gasps pushing through his lips, before nodding. Stiles wouldn’t say he always looked like the most trustworthy individual, but he would also pick a stranger over an aggressive “animal” any day. The kid shuffled closer to him, hissing at his side. Stiles moved closer, pushing the kids shoulders back until he was standing straight. A whimper broke through his teeth. 

“I know, I know, it probably hurts like a bitch. But this way you aren’t constricting your breathing. Pull in some deep breaths for me, you look like you’re going to pass out.” Stiles kept his hand on the boy, steering him towards his house. They moved at a glacial pace, which made him want to scream that there was danger around -- somewhere -- but he kept quiet. The boy didn’t know the half of what was lurking out here tonight. 

His porch light lit up when they got close to it. Stiles could feel the energy within the house thrum from the presence of another individual, since no one else had ever come before him, but Stiles kept his energy calm and encouraging. This kid was no enemy to him. 

By the time they got into the house, the boy was breathing fine again, even if he was a little pale from blood loss. “Why don’t you sit at the table?” Stiles asked, gesturing to the kitchen that the back door opened up to. “I’ll run to the bathroom and grab my first aid kit.” He hadn’t needed to use it -- ever -- but he probably still had it stored in the cabinet from when he used to fix up the human Hales. 

Sure enough, he did. It held some gauze, salve, medical grade thread and needle, along with a whole bunch of other basics. He took it down from the top cabinet and brought the whole thing out with him. “What your name?” 

The boy was leaning against the table, his blood staining the edge of it. “Scott. Thanks for helping me, but you could just take me home. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t want some strange bleeding kid just randomly in the house.” His eyes darted away, seemingly insecure. 

Stiles shook his head. The assumption that he was a teenager was an old one, nothing to startle at. “My parents are out of town right now, but I don’t really want to drive with whatever hacked you up out there. My sight isn’t too good in the dark.”

“What were you doing outside?” 

“Oh, uh, I heard a scream -- mountain lions usually don’t come so close so I thought someone had gotten lost or fallen down outside. What were you doing out in the woods?” Stiles pulled open the kit, kneeling in front of Scott. “Also, take off your shirt.” 

“I heard there was a dead body in the woods -- like completely cut in half. How weird is that? So I thought that I would wander down there and see what was up.” Scott shrugged out of his top. Stiles had the antiseptic wipes already open and ready to swipe down his ribcage, but stopped dead at the wound. 

It was a bite mark. Huge, gaping mark that’s mouth set was too wide for a has-been beta. The alphas of wolves could always unhinge their jaw some, to best turn others. There wasn’t a feral omega out tonight -- but a packless, mindless alpha. Stiles touched the wood of his floor, anxiety rolling off of him. His house would most likely hold. 

He cleaned up the wound with antiseptic, somewhat numb and Scott darted a look over at the kit. “Wow, I didn’t realize you had so much medical stuff. I was worried you’d be pulling cotton through me.” He chuckled a bit.

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles shook his head. “I don’t think it’s bad enough to need stitches. Most people don’t realize, unless they’ve got them before, that you use a different material than normal thread.” It would be bad enough to need stitches. But Scott would either turn tonight or would die -- so what’s the point in wasting some thread? Stiles felt like laughing some at his joke, however morbid it was.

“My mom’s a nurse -- I picked up a few things.” He smiled, a bright goofy thing. He didn’t seem to be in pain at all, and looked up at Stiles as if nothing was amiss. Having just met the kid, Stiles could almost guarantee he was a pure heart. It pulled something in his own chest. 

Stiles cleared his throat. “Hey, why don’t you stay the night? I can give you a ride in the morning -- whenever there’s not some mountain lion prowling around. You can call your mom if you want.” He was pretty sure his phone was functional for more than videogames. 

“Nah, she’s pulling a night shift. Probably won’t be home until close to noon. Thanks though, I rode my bike out here and I’m not quite sure how to find it anymore.” Stiles nodded. 

“The spare bedroom is the last door on the right, and there’s a bathroom right next to it. I’ll make sure to wake up around seven, so you can have enough time to go home.” After he finished talking, Stiles nodded once more and turned on his heel. Scott seemed like a nice guy, but he had to get some space for a few minutes. 

He went to his own bedroom, and laid down. The room was dark and held no answers. Stiles could hear Scott shuffle around for a minute, before the bathroom door opened and closed. After a few minutes, it reopened and he moved past Stiles’ door. 

Unable to help himself, he cast his eyes to his door, expecting Scott to come barging in with his eyes glowing gold. Stiles heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tomorrow morning, he would either have a newly turned werewolf, or a dead body on his hands. Which was stressful for more than just the whole, new weres are aggressive weres. 

Stiles was a vampire -- the Hales never had a problem with him, at least the old generation, but most werewolves were naturally hostile towards him. A more solitary creature, and to them always smelling slightly like decay. He guessed it was natural. 

However, he was unsure on how to break the news to Scott -- he seemed oblivious, and would probably laugh at Stiles. Maybe he would die during the night, and save them both the ordeal of him explaining anything.  
\--  
Contrary to popular belief, vampires don’t actually blow up in the sun. It could give Stiles a nasty sunburn, which would take months to heal, but nothing else. So when the sun starts peeking its way through the blinds, he grumbles, seeing that he would have gotten four more minutes of rest without the lousy sun. He grabs his sunscreen, always, always in reach and lathers some on before stretching and leaving his bed. 

He didn’t really need to sleep as often as other supernaturals, or humans, but it felt nice and gave some type of reprieve from the day. He padded over to his door, swinging it open and going over to the guest. Stiles knocked hesitantly, half of him wanting there to be no response, and the other half dreading that option. 

“Scott?” 

“One second,” came the bleary reply. Part of Stiles sunk, but the other half waited anxiously. The door came open to a messy haired Scott, rubbing at his eyes. “Does something smell funky to you?” 

Now that they were as close as they were, Stiles could smell him. Underneath what made Scott himself -- the smell of honeydew, and dirt, and blood -- was the smell of wolf. The fur and streamwater smell almost made him wrinkle his nose. “Yeah, about that.” 

Stiles stalled. It’s like the words just died on his lips. Scott looked at him expectantly, as he was still taking up the entire door frame, a small furrow between his brows. “About that?” He prompted. 

He huffed. “Do you have to go to school today?” 

Pulling his face back some, “I guess I could skip one, but I would still have to be home before my mom, or else they could call and she would think I’m just cutting to cut. Why?” 

“How’s your wound?” Stiles asked in lieu of an answer. 

It seemed like Scott had gone into the drawer in the room, pulling out a faded and well-worn t-shirt. He lifted the hem of the navy shirt, exposing a pale expanse. There wasn’t a single blemish on him. “Woah, what happened? Where did it go?” 

“Congratulations! You’re a werewolf!” Stiles pulled some jazz hands. 

Scott looked at him, a serious set to his mouth. He whipped his head back and forth, and stuck it out the door. Stiles had to stumble back some not to get hit by it. After a few minutes of aggressive searching, he looked back at Stiles. “What kind of joke is that? Am I getting punked right now?”  
\--  
“Yes, you are totally being punked. That explains why you got attacked by another werewolf last night.” Stiles deadpanned. He was sitting on Scott’s bed now, as the boy paced in front of him. “How did it hurt if it’s just a prank?” 

“I don’t know -- but that explains why it didn’t hurt too bad for too long! And it explains why the animals just left after hitting me once!” Scott ran his hands through his hair, over and over again. It seemed like he was getting close to pulling it out. 

“Or, your werewolf healing kicked in and the other werewolf wanted to turn you, not kill you.” Stiles responded. This was the fourth time this particular rodeo had happened, and frankly, he was getting bored with it. He stood up, moving past Scott and out into the hallway. Scott followed behind, every few seconds turning back towards the door. He was laughing in little, short breaths, like he had lost his mind. Maybe he was just waiting for the cameras to come out. 

Stiles got to the kitchen, and rummaged through a few drawers. He hadn’t really needed to cook since none of the Hales had come over for dinner in like eighty years, and most of them were dead, so it took him a second to find what he was looking for. “Ah ha!” He exclaimed while pulling out a knife, and promptly burying it in Scott’s gut. 

Scott’s hands flew up to grasp at his, eyes wide and wounded. Stiles let it sit there for a few seconds, going even so far to ask, “Does that hurt?” before removing the blade. He wiped it on a rag, as Scott doubled over to protect his stomach. 

“It should basically be closed up by now -- it wasn’t like the wound was particularly deep.” Stiles turned to look as the new wolf ripped up his shirt, even as disbelief colored his face. There was a line of pink were the knife was -- something that would take a human weeks to achieve. 

“You stabbed me in the stomach.” Scott sounded confused, but shocked was probably more what he was going for. 

“Well, yeah, if I hadn’t you would have kept going on about how you were being pranked. Do you still think you’re on some sitcom?” 

Stiles felt the solid mass slam into him, knocking the metaphorical breath out of him. Scott grabbed his shirt to force him to turn around. “What is wrong with you?” He demanded. His canines had dropped and there were claws ripping holes in his tee shirt. 

“What’s wrong with me? You need to calm down -- and take a good look at yourself.” He dropped his eyes down to Scott’s hands, gripping hard at his collar. Scott followed his lead and released him like he had been electrocuted. 

Stiles could see the big red question marks pop up over Scott’s head. He clenched his fist once, twice, staring at the claws in question. Stiles smirked, he had always enjoyed watching a new super awe at their abilities. “If you think that’s freaky, go take a peek up in the mirror at your face.” 

He looked up at Stiles before darting out of the room.  
\--  
“So I’m a werewolf.” Scott had come back into the room after he had transformed back -- he didn’t know how to keep it, and once he cooled down enough from the tutorial stabbing, he was back to human. 

“Yep.” Stiles didn’t need to eat, but he loved sugar more than anything. He had brought some brownies with him on the way into town, and popped one into his mouth. 

“And the thing that bit me…” 

“Also a werewolf.” Stiles leaned forward, swallowing the aftergunk of the chewy goodness. “Listen, it’s not that bad dude. You’ll go all green during the full moon, and need someone to get your emotions in check -- like an anchor or whatever the wolves are calling it these days. I’m more worried about who actually bit you.”

“Why?” Scott reached over to take a brownie, and since Stiles was so nice, he let him. It could also partially be because he felt slightly guilty for showing Scott the hard way. 

Stiles sighed. “Well, Scotty boy, alphas usually don’t go around biting random folks looking for random dead bodies. It means either they’re like, super feral or like, the dead body is a friend of theirs, I guess?” 

“Do you think maybe they killed the person?” Scott leaned forward eagerly. “My step-dad -- he’s the sheriff -- he thinks that it was an animal attack but she was sliced clean in half. A werewolf could do that right?” 

“Yes -- yes, I guess. But then why would the alpha bite you, if not to kill, and why would he leave you if not to have you as a beta?” 

“Beta? Alpha?” 

“It’s like positions in a pack. An alpha is a leader, and the betas are the followers. An omega has no pack. It’s kinda like a family.” Stiles allowed his hands to flow as he talked, not really gesturing but helping him get the words out. 

“Oh, okay. I think.” Scott pulled a face, before quickly smoothing it out. Stiles wasn’t close enough to him yet to read it. “Maybe the other werewolf left because they heard you -- speaking of which, why were you really out there?” 

Stiles blinked. “I told you, I heard a scream.” It was a lie, but one he had already made, and Scott was too new to pick up on it. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t scream. It came at me, and I panicked so hard that I almost started having an asthma attack. Can’t really scream with no air in my lungs.” He tilted his head to the side, daring Stiles to think of a way out of that. 

“I like to go on walks, and I found you.” Stiles shrugged. He was going to put off telling Scott about his own supernatural ability as long as possible. While unsure if hating vampires was an instinctual response, or if it was learned, he knew it was the logical outcome. And Scott, well he was nice -- plus, he was an actual, breathing, other person. 

It had been a while since Stiles interacted with someone out of more than necessity. 

“How do you know about werewolves?” Well, there went that freaking plan. “Are you a werewolf?” 

The thought was so funny, Stiles snorted. “No, dude, I’m not a werewolf. I’m a vampire. It’s how i could smell you were out there” That was better -- Scott seemed to value honesty heavily, and laying it out on the table may be the better option. 

Scott pushed his chair back so fast it threatened to fall. “Please don’t kill me!” He squeaked, throwing up his hands. The scent of fear, very much like prey, filled up the room. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “If I was going to kill you, don’t you think I’d do it last night -- when you were covered in blood and didn’t smell like wet dog?” 

His eyes widened, throwing a hand up to point -- “You’re what smells like rotting chicken!” 

“Most just say I smell like dead meat, but I guess who can put it the blunt way too,” Stiles muttered. “Anyway, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve got more self control than that, as last night should prove to you.” 

Scott stared at him cautiously, before nodding once and edging back into his seat. “But don’t you need blood to survive?” 

“Don’t you need blood to survive?” Stiles mimicked, slightly bitter at that always being the first question. “Don’t you need food to survive? And yet, even with it right in front of you, you wouldn’t go apeshit on it.” 

He stood up, moving towards the fridge. “Blood lasts a lot longer than people seem to think -- it takes a really long time for the cells to die and I need it to keep my body moving, not fill up my gut. So if the blood stays circulating, and I give myself a good two or three bags of it a month, I’m fine. Really.” Stiles pulled out a blood bag for emphasis, waving it towards Scott. 

“How’d you get that?”

“I take from the blood bank.” He shrugged, putting it back in the fridge before closing up the slider it was hidden on. 

Scott made a noise of protest. “But people need those!” 

“And a whole lot more people would if I didn’t take from them.” Stiles flashed him a look. “It’s a whole lot harder to control myself when I’m already eating, meaning that partitionings great and the buffet of someone’s body would almost certainly be drained.” He snickered at his word choice. 

“So the whole thing about vampires being uncontrollable, hungry creatures is wrong?” Scott sounded pretty doubtful, and well, he couldn’t blame him. 

“Not actually, there are terrible vampires, just like there are terrible humans.” Stiles leveled a stare towards him. “And werewolves. I just have excellent control, which never actually needed to be called into question. Now, you on the other hand.” 

“What about me?” 

“You literally attacked me just because I hurt you a little.” Scott’s eyes flashed, which didn’t help his case at all. 

“You stabbed me!” He accused Stiles. Stiles put up his hands in surrender. 

“Yeah, sure, but you wouldn’t have listened any other way. Plus, it proves my point that you have no control over your powers. You don’t even know that you’re showing your eyes to me right now, are you?” 

Scott leaned back, blinking several times. Stiles was always curious if werewolves could feel when their eyes changed color of if, when wanting to be intimidating, they just hoped it did it. “So what does that mean?” 

“Your powers are linked to your emotions, which are linked to you showing them. If you just want everyone to know, then by all means, frighten the town by throwing a hissy fit and accidentally gutting someone at the county fair.” Stiles sat back, arms crossed. He wasn’t sure how to teach a wolf to control his emotions, but he knew it had something to do with time and patience, and pixie dust. “Or, maybe you won’t get out of control. But then next full moon rolls around, and you’ve rampaged half the neighborhood, killed Mrs. Smitty’s cat and her kid, so on and so forth.” 

“So why don’t you teach me how to?” Scott threw up his hands like it was obvious, and that Stiles’ drawn-out prattle was an annoying non-necessity. 

“Can’t -- my issues are so different from wolf issues, but maybe we could find you someone to help out. Not that many wolves like me.” 

“I wonder why.” Scott said under his breath. 

“Hey! Not nice -- and I can hear you, you know. I would usually ask the Hale’s but, well, I don’t think any of the living ones are in town.” Stiles grimaced, mainly because he didn’t want to learn the hard and fast way to train a werewolf. 

“There’s Peter Hale!” Scott said excitedly, before sucking in a quick breath. “Wait -- the Hales were werewolves?” 

“Of course they were -- why do you think their house burned down? Hunters hate us all, don’t forget that when you should be keeping your wolfy powers a secret.” Stiles pointed a finger at him. 

Scott looked a little pale. “You mean people did that? To the Hales?” 

“Just because they were werewolves, yeah. You never know who could be a hunter, it’s why it’s best not to tell anyone.” 

“That won’t be hard. It’s not like I’ve got many friends anyway.” Scott responded bitterly, and Stiles felt a pang in his chest. Sympathy bloomed like the debilitating beast that it was. 

“Well, just don’t tell anyone.” Stiles said quickly, scrambling away from his clingy emotions. “Also -- Peter? He’s in a coma last time I heard, and I don’t think that rings well for him to teach you anything.” 

The young werewolf’s face dropped. “Oh, I guess you’re right.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Hey, it’s getting close to noon. I should get you home -- I’ll call around and see if I can find out where the other Hales ended up. Maybe I can get one of them to come down and teach you, plus help with this alpha problem.” 

“Won’t you catch on fire if you go outside though?” Scott asked. 

Stiles snorted, which devolved into full laughing. For a second he just held the table and wheezed. “Scott, if it would have hurt me, it probably would’ve done so by now.” He pointed behind him, where the sunlight was streaming in through his double glass doors. 

“Let me get some sun screen on, and then I’ll take you home. Also, put on another shirt. That one’s covered in blood.”


	2. Chapter 2

Turns out, Stiles had been wrong. While the last two Hales had headed up to New York a good ten years ago, Laura Hale had made the trip back down to good, ole Beacon Hills about a month prior. She may have come up for the alpha issue, but then why hadn’t he seen her? She had to know he was wandering around the woods. He only found out she was here because he had a werecoyote friend who kept an eye out on the two kids for his own piece of mind. 

Stiles chewed on the edge of a pencil, looking down at the list of motels on the edge of town that she could be staying at. Laura had never met him, born in the years he spent away from the states. Neither Derek or her had the honor, but he could be assured that Talia had said something about him.

He threw on a jacket and some sun block before heading out. He had taken Scott home about an hour ago, and proceeded to panic about him clawing up his parents, prompting him to get an early start on finding an adoptive alpha for Scott. He asked around the motels, always the same lie of his friend Laura coming to town, and oh, this isn’t so and so motel? He hurried to thank them anyway, before getting back into his Jeep more frustrated than before. 

After the last one told him that they hadn’t had a Laura check in, in a very long time, he went back to the drawing board. Where else could she stay? She probably had friends around here, but it had been quite some time since she was around. They were still here, most likely, but not close to her.

Stiles had been back in town for about three weeks, and hadn’t caught her scent once in the woods. She could be covering it up, but what for? It’s not like hunters could track by smell without dogs, and then they would need something of hers, anyway. 

He was halfway up the bumpy dirt road to his house when he realized where she would be. Stiles kept a wide berth of the husk of the Hale house out of respect, but Laura may not have the same hang ups. It would explain why he hadn’t come across her once, because it was the one area he never ventured to. 

Even when he parked his car and started his hesitant way up towards the house, he felt dirty. Wrong, somehow. He hadn’t been invited near it, and it half-stood on its former glory. 

A Camaro was parked out front, and the smell of wolf was thick in the air. He clasped his hands together excitedly. He’d love to keep Scott as a friend, one that knew about him, but relished the idea of him getting proper training. He bounded up the steps, prepared to knock, when the door swung open and he was flung backwards. 

Stiles landed in a heap, a dull thud that pushed most of the air out of his lungs. “Wait!” He struggled to say, needing to dislodge his lung from his rib. “I’m not here to hurt you!” 

“What do you want, demon?” He was more worried about possible damage to his body -- unfortunately, vampires took a while to heal, which was why it was so hard to damage them -- than the werewolf in front of him. So when he heard the rich timbre of a distinctively male voice, he was shocked. 

“Not a demon, just a blood sucker.” He responded, looking up at the face of someone who was probably a model of a god in a past life. The wolf in front of him had pure masculinity rolling off of him, from the scruff along his defined jaw, to the angry set of his untrimmed eyebrows and the muscular arms that folded over a -- most likely -- defined chest, held up by strong shoulders. He smelled like the generic stream and fur, but also moss and the clay around the bank. His scent was the life of the river. Stiles shook his head a little, to break off his tangent. “Who are you?” 

The man in front of him -- and man he was, indeed -- scowled. “Who are you?” 

“No fair, I asked you first.” Stiles objected, but a tick from Mr. Man’s jaw had him backtracking. “I’m Stiles. I come around Beacon Hills every several decades.” He didn’t elaborate anymore, unsure of who was in front of him. For all he knew, it could be the feral alpha. Would explain why he punted Stiles across the yard instead of speaking. 

“My name is Derek.” Derek Hale. Stiles could see it now, the angular nose and almond-shaped eyes, with a rich, tan skin. Definitely Talia’s son. 

“Oh, so you know of me.” Stiles smiled easily, picking himself up and dusting himself off. “Anyway, I came over bec--”

“I don’t know you.” Derek interjected. He looked upset to have to speak, ducking his gaze away from Stiles to glower at the ground. 

Stiles felt a little pang of hurt travel through him. He had known the rest of the Hale family for the last four hundred years, none of them ever had a problem with him. Or so he thought. He deflated a little. “Talia never spoke about me?” 

Derek shook his head, a resolute no. Stiles continued on, “The last time I was around, she was a teenager, she helped me do renovations on my house. Her, and Peter, and Jonathan used to all come over on weekends for movie night!” 

The look on Derek’s face didn’t change -- Talia had honestly never spoke about him. That means that Peter must not have either, or Jonathan, or the grandparents. Why? “What did you want again?” He reminded Stiles of a boulder, hard and unyielding. He could probably smell Stiles’ meltdown but trudged on anyway. 

“A teenage boy got turned last night.” Stiles blurted out, and Derek’s eyebrows shot way up. “His name’s Scott. His mom’s a nurse and his dad’s the Sheriff, so he was out last night looking for a dead body, or like, half of one. I was hoping I could talk to Laura about --”

“Laura’s dead.” His voice held no room for emotion, the words pushed unfeelingly out of his mouth. 

Stiles didn’t register the words right away. “Do you always do that? Interrupt people? Because that can get real fu -- oh, shit, I’m sorry, dude.” 

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek glared at him.

“So are you the alpha now?” If he could ignore the elephant in the room, so could Stiles. Don’t feel bad for Derek, he chanted, he’ll smell the pity. Then he’ll punt you again. Also, a mean voice piped up in Stiles’ head, saying that Derek was probably used to the feeling of losing family. Shame filled his gut. 

He shook his head. “I don’t know why, but I’m assuming whoever killed her got it.” 

Stiles gasped, throwing his hands together. “Do you think it could be who turned Scott? Like, this happened last night so presumably they could have Laura’s spark, and maybe that’s why they were running around crazy. New alphas usually can’t control the power, or so I hear.” 

Derek nodded his head like that made sense. Stiles carried on, “Anyway, if the new alpha is a crazy, murdering brute, then I really don’t want Scott around him. He’s basically a huge puppy from what I’ve seen.” Derek’s face twisted at the dog reference. “I would’ve said that even if he wasn’t a werewolf, Derek. Anyway, are you willing to help him?” He darted his eyes away, using Derek’s name as an emphasis on not calling him dude. However, saying it had caused a fluttering in him, a certain nervousness he wasn’t accustomed to anymore. 

“Why should I?” 

“Uh, maybe because if you don’t, he’ll go all wolfy and hunters will come and he’ll be killed and probably you too -- how’s that? Huh?” Stiles threw up his hands, panic peaking. Don’t deny Scott just because he knows me, he thought. 

Swiping a hand down his face, Derek let out a slight growl. “Fine, I guess. You can bring him around here tomorrow.” 

“Here?” Stiles didn’t want to look a horse in the mouth, but it was the burnt out crypt of Derek’s dead family, for Christ’s sake. 

“Yes, here. Unless you’ve got some other place that isn’t smack middle in town, or were you thinking we’d do everything in the woods like a bunch of animals?” Derek sneered at him. It fell into place for Stiles then -- he had met a speciesist vampire or two before. 

“I don’t think you’re an animal.” Stiles answered honestly. It wiped the look straight off of Derek’s face. “I just thought we could do it at my place -- it’s actually functional and people can’t come within a hundred feet of it unless I want them to.” 

“How?” 

“I’ve got runes.” Stiles shrugged. He didn’t say anything about how much he had to pay the druid that put them on his house every six months to touch them up. 

Derek was obviously torn, probably not wanting to trust the fiendish bloodsucker. Stiles snorted at that, waiting for him to give an answer. “Fine. But the first time you act twitchy at us getting cut up, I’m out.” His mouth stayed set in a hard line, but he didn’t seem ready to bite Stiles’ head off yet. 

“Cool, see you tomorrow. I’ll get Scott since I know where he lives. Follow my scent trail to get to my house.” Stiles took a step back, not like they were close, and waved before walking off. He probably looked like a dipshit walking all slow in the woods, but it was better than looking like prey by jogging.  
\--  
When he got back to his house, there was an unexpected visitor waiting for him. Scott sat on the porch steps, hands wrung together. Stiles cast a cursory glance up at the house, wondering how Scott got close to it. 

“Hey, dude, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” He smiled big and bright, showing off his teeth for the perfect pun. 

Scott turned to look at him, shooting up and walking towards him. “So, uh, remember how I skipped school?” Stiles, while would usually respond to a dumb, rhetorical question, just stared at him. “Well, yeah, my mom wasn’t home but my dad was -- and he wanted to know why I was skipping and I said that I met a new student, and they needed help with finding classes, and I skipped mine and then just went home.” He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know what to say to him, oh, sorry dad I had to learn how to be a werewolf?” 

“That’s not that bad. So he thinks you’re a good kid.” Stiles unlocked the door, going inside. Scott followed, smelling heavily of anxiety. 

“I just don’t -- don’t interact with many kids my age. Not really that smart, or fast, or anything. So he thinks I made a friend, which is like, unheard of, dude. So he wants to meet you. So -- are you free for dinner?” 

“Trying to wine and dine me, Scotty?” Stiles smirked flirtatiously, figurative heart beating too fast. In all of his years “alive”, he could count on his hands how many times he had direct interaction with the authorities. They were stressful and had access to too many records. “And you know I don’t eat.” 

“You ate a brownie this morning.” Scott pointed out. “Come on, I’ll get in serious trouble if I can’t pull of this lie. Then I’ll end up killing someone!” While ineloquent, he wasn’t necessarily wrong. 

“Okay, fine! But don’t let anything slip about me!” As much as it would be a disaster for Scott to be found out, Stiles had been floating under hunter radar for about half a century. One slip, and a joke from the Sheriff or a nurse about Scott’s imagination, and Stiles would have someone following him with purified bullets in no time. 

“I won’t.” Scott said defensively. “But you should take a shower before because you smell disgusting.” 

“Humans can’t smell what you smell, and taking a shower won’t change the fact that I’m the undead, but if it’ll please your sensibilities, then sure, I’ll shower.” Stiles said all this while backing down the hallway. He finished it off with a grand bow. 

Once inside the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror. He had kept himself up to date on how to interact with others, even if there was rarely any of that, because Stiles would never become a sedentary vampire. He just had to pull of the whole, high school kid thing. The shower fogged up the mirror after a second, and he got in. 

He could totally pretend to be a kid Scott met at school to the Sheriff. He didn’t have a heartbeat to tell a lie, and it’s not like he would hear it. Halfway through a deep scrub of his hair, he realized that the Sheriff could get a hold of the school records. Hell, he probably was trying to locate Stiles right now in the school system, which he had literally never been a part of. 

Making quick work of the rest of the shower, he jumped out and toweled off hastily. His shirt and pants stuck to him, getting slightly damp from the moisture left over as he hurried out of the bathroom. Scott was in the living room, playing something on his phone, but looked up when he heard Stiles rushing. 

“You ready?” He asked, but Stiles brushed him off. Scooping up his own phone, he Googled the school’s phone number, praying someone was still there. 

“Hi, this is Mieczyslaw...Stilinski.” He fumbled on the last name. “I was hoping to enroll my son into classes? We’re new to town and he came in today to look around. Oh -- I can’t come by tomorrow, I’m sorry. I could send my son, however?” Stiles listened for a few minutes. “Well, the wife and I are on out of the state right now, but I could fax his stuff over? Great, great. I’ll get your email, so you can have mine. It’s a nightmare to spell out.” He laughed, trying to put some bass into his voice. “Bye, now.” 

Scott was looking at him like he had grown a third head. “What was that?” He demanded. 

“Did you forget that your dad is the Sheriff -- aka, he can totally look up if you were lying or not?” Stiles challenged him. “What if he didn’t believe we met at school, and looked me up? Then he would know we didn’t and probably wonder how the hell you know me!” 

Looking stricken, Scott seemed like he was trying to think of a comeback. Stiles continued on, “Besides, it’s not like I don’t have plans for things like this. I can make it look like I’m a transfer, it’ll be airtight.” 

“As long as he doesn’t want to meet your parents.” Scott pointed out. 

Stiles waved his hand in dismissal. “Unhappy folks who travel too much because they hate each other and me. Things that evoke empathy or pity are things people don’t like to talk about. I don’t have to worry about it. Are you ready?” 

Scott sighed. “Sure, let’s go. It’s not like this will blow up in our faces or anything.” 

Stiles pocketed his keys, grabbing some sunscreen to stuff into his hoodie after swiping some on his face. “I’m not the one that made up the lie.” He reminded him. “I assume you walked or biked here, but we’re taking my Jeep back.”  
\--  
Melissa, Scott’s mother, looked very much like him. They had the same kind eyes and dark hair and thin lips. She greeted him with a smile that showed off the laugh lines around her eyes. Her hair was a frizzy, dark mane that she continously tucked behind her ear. “I made some lasagna for dinner, I didn’t really know what you liked.” Was the first thing out of her mouth, eyes darting curiously between them. 

“Lasagna sounds great.” Stiles said, smiling at her. “I’m Stiles, Scott was really helpful in showing me around today. Though I was surprised to be invited over to dinner.” He chuckled, feeling like he just inserted his foot into his mouth. 

She looked shocked for a second, before covering it up with another smile. “Oh, well, I know how it is to be new and not know anybody yet. We thought it would be good for you to get a head start on making friends.” 

Her heart betrayed the lie, and the scent of Scott’s embarrassment made it easy for him to realize she wanted Scott to get a headstart on being his friend. Not like it would be hard, basically everyone else at the school would know next to nothing about him. Still, it caused his heart to ache a little for Scott. 

“John’s upstairs getting ready, but he’ll be down soon.” She diverted the conversation quickly, leading them into the dining room. “Where did you and your family move from, Stiles?” 

Stiles would bet good money that she was asking without the Sheriff down because he didn’t need to hear the answer a second time. He responded smoothly, “Oh, my family likes to move a lot. I actually was out of the states before coming here. We were staying in Norway for a bit.” 

“That sounds nice.” Scott and Stiles sat down opposite of each other. Stiles noticed the tremor that ran through him, understanding it was probably an amalgamation of fear of wolfing out, worry that their lie would play through, and embarrassment at his parents. He shot Scott a quick grin, before looking behind him at the creak of the stairs. 

“Did Scott just get back?” A somewhat scratchy voice called out. A man -- presumably John, came into view. His skin was paler than theirs, but nothing like Stiles. His eyes were blue, and his hairline was receding, but his stance was strong and his face weathered. Stiles decided almost immediately that he liked him. 

“Hey, Dad, this is Stiles.” Scott responded, instead of answering the question. It would have been kind of pointless, considering that he could see that Scott was back.

Stiles moved to stand up, halfway out his seat to shake the Sheriff’s hand. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you.” He couldn’t keep the nervous shake out of his voice. 

John smiled at him, nodding his head. “It’s nice to meet you too, Stiles. I know that the whole, police thing can be intimidating but I’m out of uniform.”

“Dad,” Scott groaned, his face flushing. Obviously he was worried that Stiles would find his dad’s line of work nerdy, or something equally mortifying. Stiles didn’t understand why he would be anxious about him leaving, it wasn’t like he had many other people pounding his door down to be friends. 

“I’m just trying to settle him, son.” He sat down in his chair at the head, and Melissa came rushing in with the lasagna to put in the middle of the table. “Anyway, Stiles, what do you think of Beacon Hills?” 

“I haven’t seen enough of it.” He answered honestly. It was one of the few places he loved coming back to, even if it was just for the woods. “My parents like to travel a lot, so I try to enjoy every place I go to.” 

He grabbed some of the food off the spatula, carefully pushing it onto his plate. He would hate for their first impression of him to be him leaving stains in the table cloth. “Oh, what do your parents do?” Melissa asked, feigning interest. 

“My dad is a business guy, he goes and gives advice to different companies about how to make them better -- or something like that. My mom is a photographer.” He stabbed some of the pasta onto a fork, the red sauce looking funnily like blood. Stiles glanced up at Scott and found him staring at him, so maybe he thought so to. 

“I bet she’s got some lovely photos.” John responded. “What does she photograph?” 

“Nature, people, whatever people want her too, I guess.” Stiles took some healthy sips from the water, trying to wash out how flavored the lasagna was. Salty didn’t really taste good to him, and the garlic smell irritated his sinuses. It was all it would do to him, but it still wasn’t funny when he felt his nose start running. 

“Are you interested in sports?” John changed the topic, probably because Stiles would continue to act like the kid that was uninterested in his parents’ lives. 

“Yeah, I used to play baseball.” Stiles responded, smiling. Melissa threw a smile at him too, making him feel proud for some inane reason. 

“Do you think you would be any good at lacrosse?” Scott asked, a fire in his eyes. This may have been why they actually changed the conversation -- to let Scott join the conversation. “It’s really popular in Beacon Hills, and I’ve always wanted to play but my asthma got in the way. But maybe I could, now that --” Stiles cut him off with a quick kick to the shins, eyes going wide. Scott casted him a sad puppy look before realizing what he almost did. 

“Now that what, Scott?” Melissa asked, cutting a small piece of pasta to go on her fork. Stiles shook a little in how nauseated the anxiety made him. 

“Oh, uhm, I think my asthma’s been getting better. Plus I’ve been practicing a bunch, maybe could even do tryouts this year.” He finished quickly, stabbing an entire layer of lasagna and shoving it in his mouth. Stiles could hear the panicked breath he attempted to pull in when Scott realized he had stuffed too much in. 

“I hope it gets better for you. But you don’t have to push yourself for tryouts if you don’t think you could --” John sighed. 

Scott forced the pasta down his throat, causing Stiles’ physical pain from the sight. His voice came out weak, “No! No, I don’t think I’d be pushing myself. I want to do it.” He grabbed at his water, drinking heavily before his throat stopped hurting. 

“Are you thinking of trying out, Stiles? I know you just moved here, but it would be a great way to meet a lot more people.” Melissa encouraged him. 

“I might.” He lifted his shoulder noncommittally. His plan was to go to school to get his schedule and then promptly never show another day again. It may cause some issues, but nothing he couldn’t handle -- better than taking Chemistry. “When do tryouts start?” 

And the night rolled on smoothly. Stiles stayed for dessert, which was ice cream, and took his exit with Melissa. She had looked down at her watch, gasping when she realized she had a shift in less than half an hour. He told Scott he’d see him at school, and decided to tell him about Derek then. 

It was dark when he got home, but that didn’t mean that he was completely senseless. He could hear a heartbeat, distinctively wolf, along the edges of his property. Stiles had a flash of intense fear that the alpha had tracked Scott’s scent back to here, and had come to collect. He stepped out of his car, slowly, ready to bolt the second he heard a growl. 

However, once he got out of the car, and lifted his nose to the wind, he relaxed. The scent of the stream, with wolves rushing through, and rocks being overturned and the water moving, moving, filled his nostrils. “Derek?”

He caught the flash of eyes, an ice blue, along the tree line. He startled for a moment over the fact that Derek had blue eyes, but then he wasn’t always a saint either. “What are you doing over there?” 

“Your house won’t let me any closer.” Stiles grinned, proud of how his runes held up. 

“It’s just the runes. I promise with me here, it won’t make your fur stand straight up.” It was almost as if he could hear Derek grind his teeth at the dog joke. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Unfortunately he couldn’t pass up a great pun, even if he used it twice in one day. 

“Have you seen Scott?” Derek moved out of the tree line slowly, eyeing his house. 

“Yes, but the fact that we talked literally hours ago does not mean that I should have. Seriously, I didn’t go running off to see him the second we finished talking.” 

“But he’s okay to come here?” The way that Derek gestured to Stiles’ house, like it was some affront to him, irritated him. 

“Scott’s been here twice, and my house actually likes him. Unlike some asshats.” Stiles crossed his arms, feeling an unpleasant heat spread through him. “And I hadn’t had a chance to ask him, but I will tomorrow at school. Ten bucks he says yes.” 

“School?” Stiles was quickly finding out that he didn’t like a blank tone from this particular werewolf. 

“Yeah, apparently his best lie about skipping school was that he was showing a newcomer around. And his dad’s the Sheriff, so I couldn’t just be like, yeah we met at school. As if he wouldn’t look it up if he was even slightly suspicious.” Stiles scoffed. 

Derek paused, a silence that stretched and made Stiles feel very, very uncomfortable. “So you’re going to go to school? That’s probably good -- you could keep an eye on him there.” He sounded thoughtful. 

“Uh, no. I’m going for one day so my name’s on record. Scott’s whole wolf issue isn’t my problem -- it’s yours.” 

“Typical of a vampire. Can’t do anything mildly annoying for anyone but themselves.” Stiles could see the glint of his teeth from his lips being pulled back. 

“What is it with you!” He yelled, exasperated. “Not every vampire is the devil, du -- Derek. And I feel like I’ve been very nice about this whole thing. So screw me that I’m not a pack creature, that I don’t want to be surrounded by hundreds of sweaty, hormonal teenages, and screw me for being honest about it!” 

Suddenly there was a very angry werewolf all up in his space, slamming him into Roscoe. It was going to leave an ugly bruise on his shoulder. Almost immediately, he had pushed Derek off of him, his fangs coming out. Derek stumbled back a few feet, snarling at Stiles. “It doesn’t matter what you are. You found him, and you took him in, and you are going to continue helping him. You are in it now.” 

“Wow, I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say.” Stiles responded bitingly. 

“If you didn’t want to deal with a problem like this, why didn’t you just kill him?” Derek straightened out his jacket, raising an eyebrow up with his question. He stalked past Stiles, as if this wasn’t an ongoing conversation. 

“I’m not a monster!” 

It sounded suspiciously like a, “Could have fooled me.” under Derek’s breath, which were just plain fighting words. Stiles was really close to swinging his fist down on his head just to concuss him, but before he could, Derek turned around. “Go to school, Stiles.” And then he walked back into the forest.  
\--  
The next morning, Stiles got up and put sunscreen on. He stuffed it in a bag, along with two notebooks and a pencil. He got dressed, like he was headed to a funeral. Then he got into his car, and drove to the school.

Just like Derek told him to do, his brain helpfully thought. He countered back that he was already planning on doing this, thank you very much. He saw Scott locking his bike to a fence, before Scott whipped his head around to see him. He smiled his big, goofy smile and waved. Stiles waved back, ducking his shoulders in as he walked towards the boy. He didn’t want anyone to look at him strange. 

“Hey, dude! I could just tell you were there -- you know,” Scott not so subtly touched his nose. Stiles snorted. 

“Good job, buddy. Speaking of which, are you free this afternoon?” 

“I should be. I usually work at the vet’s after school, but right now he’s got a couple of dogs trying to breed and they don’t need any more stress than having one person around.” Scott shrugged, as if dog matings were normal. “Can I hitch a ride with you though? The dirt roads are killer on my tires -- they weren’t meant for the mountain.” 

“Yeah, I’m gonna get my schedule. Hopefully, we have some classes together.” Stiles pulled on his straps. “I’ll catch you in a bit.” 

Scott looked a little downtrodden, but responded with a smile and a, “Catch you in a bit.” 

He bounded up the stairs, knowing that the office should be somewhere close to the front. Indeed it was, so he should be able to at least be only slightly late to his first class. The receptionists plaque read “Mrs. Heinsworth”. He cleared his throat and said softly, “Uh, excuse me?” 

“What can I do for ya?” She responded, looking up. She was slightly plump, probably just crawled over the forty-year mark, and smiled with too few teeth. Probably hated it here. 

“My name is Stiles, I was supposed to start school today, I think? My dad said he called to get everything in order.” He fidgeted, acting as if he didn’t know that the paperwork wasn’t completely finished. 

She sorted through a couple papers, coming away with a single, thin sheet. “Ah, yes, Mr. Stilinski. Make sure that your father fills out the rest of the forms, but I have a tentative schedule for you. You are a freshmen, yes?” Stiles already put on the lie that he was a year older than his classmates due to travel, so no one should raise eyebrows at his car. 

“Yeah, and I’ll let him know. Thank you.” He took the paper from her, filing out of the office while staring down at the unfamiliar numbers and names. He didn’t even notice someone was coming at him until he pulled in a deep breath. 

Lilacs and honey dew on a lazy summer day, a scent so distinct he whipped his head up fast to find the source. A girl with strawberry hair was staring him down, walking fast his way. He put up a hand to wave hello, when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him outside. “Ow,” Stiles muttered, even though he could have broken her grasp any time. 

“What are you doing here?” She hissed at him, looking around the empty parking lot suspiciously. 

“Do I know you?” Stiles responded tentatively.

“Lydia Martin.” She stated. “Why are you here when we both know you got your education probably years ago -- if ever?” 

“Stiles. I don’t know what you’re talking about?” He inched away from this Lydia, intensity and intellect that was sharp as a needle. He was frankly frightened by the idea that she could know what he was. 

She pinched him, hard on the arm. Stiles flinched back, but she just huffed. “Don’t act dumb, we both know you’re a --” she leaned in real close, whispering, “-- a vampire.”

Stiles pulled back quickly. “How do you know that?” He tried to play it off with a challenge in his voice, like he didn’t believe her, like she was making it all up. 

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a banshee, have been for a very long time, no you can not get the tragic backstory yet, no I will not tell you how it works, and yes, it does tune me into certain other types of supernaturals.” She listed off everything that she seemed to think could be a possible question he could have. He was stunned, leaning in to get a hesitant whiff off of her. She still smelled like flowers in the summer heat, but lacked that distinctive human smell -- prey. 

“I’ve never met a banshee before.” He responded honestly. 

“You probably have, we just don’t go parading it around like you do.” 

Stiles scoffed. “Excuse me, I’m very good at hiding. Just because you’ve got some freaky frequency for my kind doesn’t mean that I’m at fault.”

“Why are you here?” Her eyes darted towards the door, probably thinking of the class she was missing. Or possibly someone listening in on them. Stiles was almost positive that enhanced senses -- at least of the main five -- wasn’t part of the package for a banshee. 

“A friend -- kid -- got turned by a werewolf a couple nights ago.” He spoke quietly, hunched over near her. “You know about those, right? Anyway, while he gets control over his shift, I’m here to watch him.” 

She nodded like it didn’t surprise her. “Just keep yourself in check. I know you aren’t going to go around ending people, but don’t do anything too risky. You’d mess up everything for all of us.” 

“How do you know I wouldn’t end somebody?” He challenged, just because he could. Lydia tapped her hand to her mouth, and oh. “Okay, fair. And I wasn’t turned yesterday, unlike Scott, so I’ll keep my toes in line.” He smiled at her, too tight to be reassuring, but too pleasing to be sarcastic.

Lydia definitely served as the perfect reminder that he wasn’t human either, no matter how he pretended. At least he wasn’t the only supernatural freak besides werewolves in the town, and at least one seemed to be in his corner. She raised her eyebrows as a response to him, before turning on her heel and going back into the school. The school he was enrolled in. 

He was so late for class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So I know this is like, wayyyy before the time I said I'd post it. But I finished writing and had like four hours to just sit and edit, and I really like how it is -- it's unbeta'd (as most of mine are) but I never put out the beginning product. This doesn't mean that I'm going to have all the chapters out this quick, lol. 
> 
> I've also got a one-shot that I'm working on! It could also make it where I stick closer to my longer deadlines. I've only got about 9,000 words down for it, but it's going to be somewhere between 45,000-60,000 probably, so keep an eye out. I'll still get these out before I work on it (bc this baby's priority) but in case you were like, oh they posted after a day? Where's the next?? That's why. 
> 
> anywhat thanks for reading xx


	3. Chapter 3

Turns out that Stiles’ first class was English, which took him two floors to find. He ducked into the class, muttering an apology about being late. The teacher stopped him before he could slink to the closest possible desk to Scott. 

“I wasn’t expecting two new students today!” The man had a potbelly and a jovial sound to his voice. Stiles thought about a young version of Santa, pretty close to his second heart attack. “What’s your name?” 

Stiles’ face flushed, only a shade of light pink because he may have blood circulating, but it didn’t mean he had that much. “Uh, Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.” 

“Stilinski! You aren’t related to the Sheriff, are you?” The teacher smiled at him, while all the students looked onward. It felt as if he was being dissected right then and there. 

“No? I didn’t realize that was his last name.” Stiles responded with an awkward chuckle. 

The teacher turned to face the class. “Okay, well for the second time today, we have a new student class. His name is Stiles, and I hope you all make him feel welcome. My name’s Mr. Klein, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He glanced around the class, “You can go sit behind McCall, my boy.” 

“Thanks.” Stiles nodded, quickly retreating to the empty desk. Mr. Klein started scribbling something on the blackboard, talking about Hamlet and parallels between characters. Stiles grabbed one of his notebooks out of his bag, flipping it open and writing the class down. He didn’t actually expect to need to right anything, with Shakespeare being only a few years younger than him, Stiles had pretty good memories of his plays. 

A piece of paper was slid on to Stiles’ desk, halfway through a doodle of a tree. He quickly opened it, and in a mess scrawl it asked, “Why were you so late to class?” 

Stiles wrote back, “Someone wanted to talk to me. I’ll tell you more about it after school.” 

He nudged Scott’s upper arm with the note a few times, before the opposite hand slid slowly from where it was resting against the side of his ribcage to take it. Scott turned to look at him slightly, before nodding and turning around. He immediately starting writing again, glancing up at the board with a ferocity that looked like it could make his neck snap. 

The class passed quickly, Stiles thinking about Shakespeare and everyone else learning about him. When the bell rung, it startled him enough that he shoved his notebook into Scott’s back. “Sorry.” He said, making a quick grab for it. 

“It’s okay, what time do you have lunch?” Stiles pulled out the folded paper from his pocket, squinting at it. 

“It says third block, but I don’t know what that means?” He responded, and Scott just grabbed the paper out of his hands. 

After a few minutes of looking at it, he handed it back with a smile. “We have chemistry together, before lunch. Which means that we can hang out during it. Looks like our history and math blocks got switched though, and hey! We have economics together at the end of the day. At least it won’t be hard to find each other to get back to your place.” 

They started walking out when a light voice called out for them to wait. Scott turned back, face instantly brightening and a sweet cinnamon wafting off of him. Stiles turned to look at the girl gathering her things at the desk, trying to be quick for them. It was kind of easy to see why Scott would have a crush on her. 

She had lovely pale skin, and dark hair with chocolate eyes. Her lips, a rosy pink, were full and smiling. Truly, if Stiles was interested in girls, it wouldn’t be hard to get behind the whole, pure, sweet look. She hefted her bag over her shoulder before coming towards them. 

“Uh, thanks for letting me borrow your pen.” She held a ballpoint in her hand out to Scott, ducking her head. 

Scott smiled back at her, waving it off. “You can keep it. You’ll probably need it for the rest of the day.” 

She tucked some hair behind her ear, casting her eyes to the floor and nodding her head. She pulled her lip through her teeth, before looking back up at them. “Oh! You’re the other new student, right?” 

Stiles was unaware that he would be involved in this conversation. “Yeah, yeah name’s Stiles.” 

“I’m Allison.” She stuck her hand out, still with the pen in it before realizing and laughing some. “Oh, sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Stiles assured her. “I have to get to my next class, but hey if you need any help being shown around then Scott’s your man. He helped me yesterday.” 

Allison blinked at him. “Then why were you so late?” 

“Oh -- ah -- that was an issue with my schedule, not because I didn’t know where to go.” He smiled at her. 

“You wouldn’t mind showing me around?” She asked Scott hesitantly, looking worried he’d say no. She smelled of the sweet cinnamon as well, along with ripe fruit and mistletoe. 

“Not at all!” Scott rushed to respond, nodding his head furiously. “It wouldn’t be hard, or anything.” 

 

“That would be nice,” She admitted, pulling out her schedule. “Uh, here’s my classes.” 

Stiles hit Scott on the arm, “I’ll catch you for lunch, yeah?” 

“Yeah, see you in chemistry.” Scott responded, distracted. Stiles decided to head on out anyway, because if he didn’t get a move on then he really would be late for the second class. He didn’t think he could use the excuse of being late a because of front office hassle a second time. 

The next class was math, and afterward chemistry. The math class was on the same floor, and he found it before the warning bell even rang. The class was only halfway filled up, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the strawberry blonde girl sitting up front. Her eyes snapped up to lock onto his too, after a few seconds. 

“Stiles.” Lydia smiled at him. “Come sit next to me.” It would mean a front seat, but he wasn’t bad at math at least. 

“So, how’s everything going your first day?” She asked, already seemingly bored with the answer before he responded. 

“It’s fine, Scott seems to be doing fine.” Stiles grabbed the same notebook he used in English, flipping to a new page. “I was late as shit to my last class, no thanks to you. Weren’t you worried about getting into trouble for being late?” 

“Free period.” She responded, popping open a mirror to fix her lipgloss. Stiles was suddenly struck with the realization, with how pretty and prissy she was, that Lydia was probably popular. Had he managed to make a friend with the popular kid on his first day? 

A tall guy walked in like he owned the place, right as the late bell rang. He had a square face, with bright blue eyes and styled hair. He took one look at where Stiles’ was sitting and pulled a face. And Stiles, well he may have taken someone’s seat. 

“You’re new here, so I’ll give you a pass.” The guy’s voice was cool, “But you’re in my seat.” 

Before Stiles had a chance to respond, Lydia piped up. “Sit behind me Jackson.” 

“Excuse me?” Jackson, apparently, said. 

“I said, sit behind me. I want Stiles to sit there.” She pursed her lips, like daring him to argue with her. The slight mingling of their scents made it clear they were together, and the display made it clear who was in charge. 

Jackson cut his eyes over to Stiles, sneering as he took his spot behind her. She leaned her back back until her hair just barely brushed him. It seemed to soothe him. Stiles couldn’t help but worry that, while Lydia was shielding him now, she wouldn’t later. 

It wasn’t like a human, teenage boy could really do much to him, but Stiles also couldn’t do much in return. Flashing his fangs, or breaking the kid’s arm if he tried to beat him up would just cause more problems for Stiles that wouldn’t be worth it. So he kept his head down, tried to ignore the occasional heat from a glare that he didn’t really want on him, and took notes on math. 

Stiles tried to bolt as soon as the bell rang, but Lydia laid a hand down on him. “What time do you have lunch?” 

He looked at where her hand was on his hoodie, and glanced back at Jackson. He seemed frozen, transfixed and staring at the place of contact. “Third block.” He wheezed out. She nodded like it pleased her. Stiles grabbed his bag and headed out, allowing her to turn and deal with her boyfriend. 

Ducking into a bathroom stall, he applied some sunscreen to his face and neck and hands, all the way to the wrist. He let the soothing motions of rubbing the lotion into his skin calm him. He wasn’t going to get killed by a high school bully, for Christ’s sake. And Scott probably hadn’t shown anyone that he was a werewolf, even if Allison made his heart pound. Which, hell, maybe he had already outed their furry secret before third period after all. He dropped the container back in the bag, flushing the toilet for anyone listening in. He wasn’t going to be considered nasty for not following human conventions. 

He found the chemistry room pretty easily, the teacher a sharp man with dark hair and a cold gaze. He seemed to exemplify the type of person who taught just to torture. Why even work with students if you hated them? Stiles didn’t need his nose to smell the distaste he had for the class. He decided to sit as far back as he could, waiting for Scott to get in. 

Scott came in before the warning bell, which probably meant Allison’s class was close. He would try to listen out for her heartbeat, but he wasn’t that familiar with her yet. Scott scanned the rows, eyes landing on Stiles before he wandered over. 

“Thanks for giving me that in with her.” Was the first thing out of his mouth. Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle a little. 

“I’ll take it that you guys are hitting it off.” He pulled out the second notebook, opening to the first page. 

Scott smiled dreamily. “Yeah, she’s so pretty man. And she seems so nice. Did you know her family came from France?” 

Stiles was willing to indulge him, smiling as he responded, “I did not know that, Scott. She does seem very nice -- she’d probably fit well with you.” 

“You think?” Scott asked excitedly. “I mean, I just met her so like, you never know. But it would be amazing to get to know her. Do you think she’ll want to hang out with me, with us?” 

“I think it’s a possibility, you could always ask her. But not for today, okay?” Stiles wanted to encourage him to live life, and go after the girl, but they had training to do. 

Scott nodded like he understood. Before he could open his mouth again, the late bell rang and the teacher swung the door shut. He turned to face the class. “I see we have a new student among us. My name is Mr. Harris.” He addressed Stiles. “I expect you to respect me, and I expect you to pay attention.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, instead rapping on the whiteboard behind him. “Today, we’re covering balancing equations. I will do two examples, and then take questions.” Stiles sighed heavily, realizing this would be the hell every churchgoer warned him of. 

Scott cut him a sympathetic look, before staring at the board like it was written in a foreign language. It was obvious he had questions, but no! They had to wait until the examples were done to ask. Stiles wrote down what was written, glad he didn’t need a diploma to exist outside of this domain anymore. 

The class passed with people asking quiet questions and getting harsh, belittling responses. Stiles winced every time Mr. Harris opened his mouth, ready to lay into someone for either not paying enough attention, or reading enough, or understanding enough. When the bell rang, he snapped his notebook close. “Jeez.” Stiles shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s Harris.” Scott sighed, before snapping back to perky. “But guess what -- Allison has the same lunch period as us. I invited her to sit with us, so she might.” 

“It’s possible.” Stiles responded distantly. It was pretty unlikely she had met anyone else in the classes she had. “Let’s go get some undercooked, non nutritional food!” He tried for cheer, but Scott shot him a look. 

“What? Are schools not like that anymore?” He asked. 

“No, schools are exactly like that. I just wasn’t expecting you to know that.” Scott said. 

Stiles shrugged. “I watch a lot of documentaries.” 

“That’s a way to keep up with the time.” There was a play sarcastic edge to his words, causing Stiles to laugh. They wandered out of the classroom, and he kept close to Scott for the lunchroom. There was a swarm of people in there, some sitting at tables, some at the vending machines, lots in lines and even more coming in. 

“How does anyone get lunch?” He asked, the scene before him looking too chaotic for anything to be done properly. 

“Oh, yeah. The lines move really quick.” Scott walked them up to one of them, at ease with the fact that there was a good twenty people ahead of them. But true to his word, they managed to get their food in under ten minutes. Stiles wrinkled his nose at it. 

“Where do you usually sit?” 

“There’s a couple tables near the back, where one side is usually empty. I like to sit over there.” Scott nodded his head towards them, and yeah, they were pretty sparse. Most people sitting there were sitting with only other person, or just themselves. 

Stiles followed him, a deep frown pulling at his mouth. “At least there’s plenty of space for both of us.” He joked. 

“And Allison.” Scott reminded him, sliding into a seat. Stiles took a seat across from him, trying to break it to him that Allison may not sit with them -- before she came walking up, hands clutching her tray. “Hey!” 

“Hi,” she said shyly. “I can sit with you guys right?” 

“Of course,” Scott said enthusiastically. Stiles nodded, watching her sit next to the werewolf. She pulled her hair back before taking a bite of pizza. 

“One thing that never changes is the school food.” She talked through a bite of pizza. Stiles laughed, picking up a fry and twirling it idly. The smell of flowers wafted through the cafeteria, mixing unfavorably with the greasy food items. 

Stiles turned to see Lydia walking towards their table, towing a confused Jackson. He had just met her today, but was already completely sure that this was her normal. Allison spoke up before he could. “Oh! Hey, Lydia!” 

“You know her?” Stiles asked, confused on how they could’ve met. 

“Yeah, we have AP chemistry together before lunch. She had to split off to get her boyfriend, but I told her that she could sit with us if she wanted.” Her word choice confused Stiles; she had been at this school longer than either of them, Lydia could sit wherever she pleased. 

“Hello, Stiles. Allison. Scott -- it’s nice to actually meet you.” She sat down next to Stiles, leaving Jackson to sit awkwardly as the fifth, not really part of the square. 

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you?” Scott said, unsure. He probably rarely had one person to sit with, much less four. 

“Allison, who do you have for english?” Lydia asked, setting the ball rolling for conversation. Scott said they all had the same teacher, and made fun of how festive he always was. They talked about how he took the readings too seriously, and what classes people were going to take next year, which rolled over to birthdays and cars. Jackson interjected himself whenever he could, about how he had the best teacher, or going to have the biggest party, or that his parents could get him any car he wanted. Stiles couldn’t help but to think that he was a really entitled jerk. 

“Well, I’m actually sixteen already. My parents got me a Mazda.” Allison admitted. 

Stiles brightened. “I’ve also already got my car -- it’s my mom’s hand-me-down Jeep. It runs pretty well though.” 

“Oh, so what? Both of you failed grades?” Jackson laughed. “I could’ve skipped, but my parents thought it would be better for me to be with people my own age.” 

“No, my family just travels a lot. Sometimes the curriculum I learnt in say, California is actually a year lower than what I would be learning in France, and then I’m behind the learning curve for a different place. All of the moving made it easier for me to lower a grade, than risk failing one because what’s being studied is too advanced.” Allison responded, looking at Jackson like he lost his mind. 

“Same here.” Stiles volunteered. “My family just moved from Norway.” 

“Plus, a year isn’t really that different.” Scott defended them, shooting them both a cautious smile. Allison blushed, smiling back. 

“Oh, probably not to you, McCall.” Jackson sneered. “I bet you’d hang out with a bunch of middle schoolers just to have someone think you’re cool.” 

“Jackson!” Lydia gasped, eyes going wide and hurt. 

Scott stood up so fast, the table moved with him. “At least I don’t buy friends.” He basically growled at Jackson. Stiles glanced up at him, seeing his eyes flaring beta gold and did the only thing he could think of. 

Which was slide his lunch tray as hard as he could towards Scott. It pushed his off, spilling mashed potatoes all over his jeans. “I’m sorry,” Stiles cried, standing to pull Scott away. “I’m really clumsy, I’m sorry. Come on, let’s go get that off -- I’m so sorry.” 

Jackson just tipped his head back and laughed, and if Stiles didn’t have to deal with the supernatural possibly being exposed, he would grab the kids trachea and pull as hard as he possibly could. It seemed like Lydia was already thinking ahead on that, standing up and leaving him at the table. She gestured for Allison to follow her, which was good -- Stiles didn’t want her to think everyone was abandoning her with the world’s jerkiest jerk. 

He quickly pulled Scott into the nearest bathroom, thankfully empty. “Get a hold of yourself.” He snapped, shaking the werewolf a little bit. His face hadn’t started to transform yet, but his claws were out and so were his eyes. “I don’t care how pissed he makes you, you calm down right now.” 

Stiles pushed Scott in front of a mirror, before he could slash at Stiles. Scott stared at himself for a minute, looking ready to punch the mirror, before realizing what he was looking at. Little by little, his shoulders sagged and claws receded. “Oh, man. I don’t know why that got me so angry. It’s just, Jackson’s a huge jerk, you know?” 

“Tell me about it.” Stiles grabbed some paper towels to wet and clean Scott up. “Listen, while we’re all alone, I’ve got someone to train you. So hopefully, this happens never again.” Stiles passed the towels to him. 

“You found me another werewolf that quick?” 

“It’s Derek Hale, he doesn’t seem that happy but I think he’d be less happy if you got caught by hunters.” Stiles leaned against the sink, watching Scott try to scrub off the mashed potatoes. “He also agreed to come over to my place, not that I think he was pleased about that either.” 

“Derek Hale? I didn’t know he was in town.” Scott didn’t seemed too troubled. Stiles briefly wondered if the training would go over well, considering how polar opposite the two wolves seemed.

“Laura came a couple weeks ago, and he followed. I, uh, think the alpha that attacked you killed her.” Stiles scratched the back of his head, feeling like it wasn’t his place to tell Scott about the loss of Derek’s sister. He imagined her to be fair and strong like their mother, and probably a little on the quiet side. 

Scott’s head snapped up at this. “Is she the body I was looking for? Oh, man, that’s seriously messed up.” 

“Don’t say anything about her to Derek. It’s recent, and unfair for us to poke at the wound.” 

“But where’s her upper half?” He asked Stiles. 

Stiles had thought about that too, about how they never found the upper half. Did Derek know where the rest of her body was? Did he want to give her a proper burial, but couldn’t because of the alpha? The bell rang, before he could ask any of the questions -- not as if Scott would have any of the answers. “I’ll see you in Econ.” Stiles sighed, grabbing his bag and heading out.

History was boring, but Allison and Lydia had the class with him at least. It was always nice for another supernatural to be present. Stiles was starting to have a headache, not from the lesson -- he already knew the dates and most of the names semi-personally. He wondered how none of the other students had gone mad from being in this constant, monotonous chunk of life for so long. 

He filed into Econ, found Scott, and resigned himself to one last hour before leaving. A man with wide eyes and spiky hair came in, throwing his clipboard onto the desk. He told Stiles to call him Coach, and started yelling at a Greenburg before Stiles could introduce himself. This suited him, finding this class at least lively and enjoyable to a degree. Most of the freshmen in there with them seemed to agree, that Coach was a little out of sorts, but never boring. 

The bell rang in the middle of him trying to give a talk about how to put a condom on. Stiles looked over at Scott, “Who has a dick that curved?” Shocked, Scott started laughing. “I mean, really,” Stiles continued, liking how the laughter made him feel, “He could have at least used a cucumber.” 

“Why do they use fruit and vegetables to talk about sex anyway?” Scott asked, tears in his eyes. He swiped at his face, a grin stretched across it. 

“I mean, would you prefer they use a perfect, anatomically correct penis?” 

“I guess not, but I’m never going practice on a cucumber.” He responded, shouldering his bag. They walked out of class together, their arms bumping as they followed the stream of students. 

“You can put your bike in the back.” Stiles parked fairly close to the bike rack, within seeing distance at least. “There should be enough room if we put the seats down.” He unlocked his Jeep, working on pushing down the never used back seats while Scott unchained his bike. It went in easily, the wide set of the back allowing them to turn it at an angle. 

“How long does it take to get to your house from here?” Scott asked, climbing into the passenger seat. 

“Only about thirty minutes. Are you hungry?” He could smell the teenager was, which was fair because he technically was going through a second puberty. “I could stop somewhere for you to get something.” 

“Do you think it will mess up my training?” Scott brought a hand up to bite at his nails, probably a worrying habit. 

“I highly doubt that you guys are gonna do much physically today.” Stiles snorted, no, they’d probably just focus on his shift. Would Derek have to talk emotions with Scott -- was the stoic werewolf he met even able to?

“I thought we were training?” 

“Yeah, training you to be in control of your wolfy side. Getting you all riled up by playing around probably won’t help much.” 

Scott nodded, “Okay, could we stop at a McDonald’s?” While Beacon Hills was on the smaller side for a city, it still held about six of the heart-stoppers. Stiles turned right onto a road, towards the one that was slightly further away, but he didn’t have to turn left at all. “How is he gonna help me?” 

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever been present for full moon lock-downs with the Hales. Never during the daytime stuff.” 

“Lock downs?” Scott asked, but before Stiles replied, they got to the window. 

“What do you want?” 

“Oh, uh, can I get the twenty nugget meal?” Stiles relayed his request to the man, let him tell them their total, before he drove forward. Scott fished out a card, that Stiles placed in his lap while they waited. “Lock down?” Scott repeated. 

“Most times it takes time for someone to learn control. They used to use my basement, because of the strange smell that would distract the younger wolves, and the fact that there’s a pretty strong vampire directly above in case something goes wrong.” Stiles pulled up when the other car left, handing the card to the bored looking worker, and taking the receipt and food. Scott, thankfully, until they started driving again. 

“Are vampires also like super strong?” Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if that was the first major werewolf thing that Scott learned on his own. Being bullied, or feeling weak for the entirety of life put a new meaning on super strength. 

Stiles pulled another right turn. They could stay on this road for a while to basically get to his house. “Yeah, we’re not as strong as a werewolf, but we’re a little faster and can hold our own. The only real plus side going for werewolves in my opinion is the accelerated healing.” The negatives were death, moderately uncontrollable rage, the scent of wet dog, cycling with the moon…

“Do you not have healing?” There was one left turn to make, onto the dirt road leading up to his house. Scott opened up the nugget container, having already shoved all the fries down his gullet. 

“It’s not like I can’t heal. It’s just that, it takes a lot of red blood cells for me to get patched back up. It’s not that hard for you to make more, but I don’t make blood anymore, you feel? So to heal quickly, I’ve got to drink a lot of it. And that’s not really something I’m good on doing because it’s more robbing the blood bank, or killing someone. So yeah. Having fast healing sounds awesome.” They had to move slowly up the dirt path, but at least his driveway was pathed. Moving onto a smooth ground felt nice on the wheels and he admired it for a second before putting the car in park. 

Scott got out, and then tilted his head to the wind. It was the most magnificently stupid, blatantly werewolf thing he had ever had the privilege to witness. With his nostrils flaring, Stiles realized that they may have doomed the entire supernatural world with this one puppy. 

“There’s someone here, Stiles.” His concern was endearing. Stiles had already smelled Derek, could hear his heart near the left of the house, far enough back that he was probably still wary of the runes. 

“I know, it’s Derek.” Louder, though it was completely unnecessary, he called out, “You can come up to the house, I promise neither of us will bite.” He smirked, watching the leather-clad werewolf stalk out of the woods. 

“Oh, he looks scary as fuck.” Scott whispered, ducking a little closer to Stiles, as if he could protect him. 

Stiles let him get closer, feeling oddly knit to the kid. “He can hear you, you know.” Scott paled. “We’re gonna go inside, feel free to join us.” He walked up to his door, opened it and got inside. He left the door open, because even if Derek didn’t want to step into the scary vampire den, he would want Scott to come outside. 

Scott followed him inside without a second thought, moving towards the kitchen with the remainder of his food. Stiles pulled out his sun block and starting putting some on his hands and face. As he was rubbing it in, Derek appeared in the doorway. They locked eyes, and Derek scrunched his nose, before taking a ginger step in. Stiles smiled at him. 

“Scott’s in the kitchen eating. I’m sure you’ll get used to the smell, even if it offends you at first.” Stiles put his sun block down, moving towards the kitchen doorway. He heard Derek follow him, the strong and silent. 

Scott was still eating his nuggets, having the ability to open up the sauce and dip them now. He looked up when they came in, and Stiles was weirdly proud he didn’t choke when he saw Derek. He could hear the quiet pull of air from behind him, probably the werewolf reading the situation in the best way he could. 

“Hey, I’m Scott.” He said nervously, darting his gaze between both of them. Stiles opted to sit down, not because he wanted to be present for the teaching but because it would probably ease Scott. 

“Derek. Did you see who bit you?” Stiles couldn’t help but frown at him, direct and gruff as he was being. Why immediately start grilling the kid on the alpha? 

Scott shook his head, scooping up some sauce on one of the nuggets. “No, it was too dark and it came at me from behind. Bit me right on my hip.” 

Derek looked intrigued by this, but nodded and declined to say anything enlightening. “That’s a better place to bite, more chance for you to turn successfully. The bite is a gift -- as you can probably tell. It gives you better vision, hearing, scent, healing. All of it.” 

“Yeah, it may be a gift but I didn’t ask for it.” Stiles blinked, shocked. He had never heard these thoughts, though he hadn’t really known Scott for long. “Now, I feel upset all the time, and get a headache from how bad the school smells, and am hungry. All the time.” He accentuated what he meant by biting hard into the chicken. 

“That will all pass. It was easier for me. I was born -- I assume there some adjustments you need to make.” Derek looked uncomfortable. As much as Stiles knew that he didn’t belong in this conversation, he sat there and listened. Derek took a seat across from Scott, trying his hardest to articulate his thoughts. “However, with time, I’m sure it will do more good for you than bad.” 

Stiles had only ever heard sayings like that when life was about to get very, very bad.  
\--  
Derek and Scott had managed to get him to successfully pop his claws without any of the other werewolf-identifying features coming to light after a few hours. Derek even seemed impressed, and as cool as it was to watch Scott shift back and forth, and back, Stiles had left them after an hour. He could smell the slightly springy scent of admiration through the doorway, to where he was laying on the couch. 

However, shortly after they managed to master that, Scott got upset and sliced his own leg open. A lot of blood spewed out and over his shorts, hitting the ground below and making a mess. Derek probably decided that enough was enough, and even a drop of blood in a vampire’s house was worse than a room of wolfsbane in a werewolves. 

Scott limped over to the bathroom, catching sight of Stiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to -- it was just frustrating, you know?” 

“Yeah, buddy, sounds like it.” Stiles glanced up from the book he was reading, not really concerned with how ruined Scott’s pants were. “That being said, it seems like you’re making progress. Good on you. Also, you could probably find some pants that fit you in the guest room.” 

He let Derek dither around his kitchen for a few minutes, the burnt smell of frustration growing stronger, before sighing and closing his book. He walked into the kitchen, looked at the table where there was a small amount of blood on one of his wooden seats and on the wooden floor below, and walked over to his sink. Derek had frozen the second he had walked in, probably terrified he would turn into a monstrous fiend out to kill them both. Instead, he opened the cabinet under his sink and pulled out paper towels. 

Raising an eyebrow at Derek, he ripped several off and started wiping up the blood. “Could you bring me some wet towels for the dried up bits?” He called over his shoulder. Stiles was convinced that he could be the better supernatural by showing how in control he was. Derek wordlessly handed him a few. 

After he threw the red towels into the trash, he turned to look at the werewolf. “Accidents happen, I’m not hungry, and you don’t have to act like I’m incapable of being around blood.” Stiles stalked out of the room after that, content to head back to his book and let Derek think on his words. 

Instead, Derek followed him out. “I’m sorry. Most of the vampires up in New York were very blood centric.” 

“They’re probably a lot younger than me, and a lot stupider.” Stiles picked up his book, even though he didn’t have the vaguest notion of what he was reading anymore. Derek went over to the TV stand, which also acted as the DVD and book stand, by how spacious it was. 

Stiles turned a page idly, gathering no information on what the plot was. After a few minutes, he saw Derek pick something up out of the corner of his eye. “Is this my mom?” Derek asked, though he probably knew damn well. The frame was a deep brown, and Stiles knew which picture it was. 

“Yeah, it was a game night for the family. It mostly happened on full moons, so the younger ones could be locked up and the older ones could be nearby. Talia had just beaten Peter at scattergories, a feat worth photographing she said.” Stiles chuckled, visualizing the photo Derek was staring at. Stiles would be sitting next to Peter on a loveseat, with Jonathan in a chair next to them. Talia would be on the couch across, with the only other person on it being their mother. She would sit farthest from everyone so no one could steal her answers. In the photo, she was leaning with her back towards everyone so the camera could face everyone. Stiles leaned close to Peter, who had his arm thrown around him and Jonathan, a lazy smile that suggested he allowed her to win written clearly on his face. 

His heart ached for a moment, of the friends he had made and lost. Of the family he had slowly become a part of, that had died. Derek stared at it for a few moments more, a crisp scent of sadness wafting over to Stiles -- but his own sadness was probably mixing in too. “Uh, tell Scott that we can pick back up tomorrow. I have to leave.” 

“Okay,” Stiles responded softly, watching Derek mechanically put the photo back in its spot and leave without looking at him. Stiles held onto his book, cover barely held in his hands, and focussed on dulling the pain. He hurt too, for the loss of the history of people like him. People he was close to. 

A few minutes later, Scott came out of the bathroom, hair wet. He looked around and Stiles relayed Derek’s message. “Oh, that’s cool, I guess. I don’t have to be home for another few hours or so, though. Do you want to watch a movie or something?” And Stiles could smell the hope coming off of him in waves, the look in his eyes. He wasn’t sure why Scott wanted to be his friend, the likeable, now supernatural, person that he was. 

However, it may have been because of wanting someone close, or remembering that some werewolves could be kind, but Stiles smiled up at him. “That sounds cool. Have you seen all the Star Wars movies?”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles grudgingly admitted that Derek was right on one count -- that it was easier to keep watch of Scott while attending school. Most days he managed to get through the whole day, but on Wednesdays and Fridays he didn’t bother to show. Scott volunteered at the animal clinic, so he didn’t have to feel bad for not being there as a ride. 

He had grown closer to the young werewolf. Most days after he finished learning from Derek, they would watch a movie. Stiles caved easily and bought a PS4 for them to play games on after a week. He had been over to Scott’s house three more times for dinner, Melissa and John warming up to him incredibly. 

On Sunday, and every other free day of the week, Derek and Scott would be over at the vampire’s house, learning control. The house started to gather an overlaying scent of musk to it, partly Scott and partly Derek. Stiles found that the longer he simmered in it, the less it smelled like wet dog and more like the woods themselves. Likewise, Stiles could sometimes see how his scent was left on the werewolves. After the second week, Scott stopped making a big deal about his death smell. It was as if they had reached a happy medium. 

It didn’t mean everything was great, however. Most sessions ended with some of his furniture being broken, or Scott bleeding. Stiles had plenty of money for the furniture, and if he snuck some new clothes into the guest room so the werewolf wouldn’t run out, no one needed be the wiser. Derek didn’t have much to say to him, except the “get out” at the beginning of the session and the goodbye at the end. Stiles still saw him lingering at the pictures, and he wanted to talk about them with someone who understood but every time he brought them up, Derek made a quick exit. 

It was a week before the full moon, Stiles had left the house to look out into the woods. Derek said he wanted to focus on finding Scott’s anchor and that, well, that had seemed personal so he had quietly left. He must have been out there for a good hour when he heard the distinctive footfalls of the older werewolf. Stiles turned to watch him march over to the fallen tree he was squatting on. 

Derek sat down next to him, looking out of place with how high it made his knees go. After a few beats of silence, he spoke. “Laura is buried behind the house.” 

Stiles looked at him, really looked at him. He looked slightly haggard, pale, and angry. Derek looked like the person who always got the short end of the stick. “Okay.” And Stiles really, really wanted to say more, but he felt like this was important to Derek and he could control his tongue. 

“I know the police probably want the re -- want her, but she was obviously killed fighting. It’s a way for me to honor her.” 

“I think she would like that.” Stiles didn’t know what she would like, but it meant a lot to Derek obviously. His shoulders sank in, nodded, and that was the end of that conversation. 

But it didn’t make anything magically better, either. The full moon was two days away when they got into a screaming match, which Stiles should have realized was probably the worst time to argue with a werewolf. “It would be safer to lock Scott up in here. It’s a house, away from hunters, and I’ve got the equipment.” 

“I appreciate the place to teach him, but he needs to be restrained somewhere that I can keep an eye on him.” Derek was about to leave, Scott in the shower, when Stiles had offered his basement for the full moon. Derek had dismissed him easily, saying that the full moon was for werewolves and not vampires. 

“Oh, like you haven’t been able to keep an eye on him here?” Stiles asked sarcastically. “Did you have some magical werewolf restraint facility specific for full moons? Or where are you going to take him? Huh?” 

“My family restrained me in our basement and it will work well for him.” Stiles could hear Derek’s jaw click shut. 

Stiles tilted his head back and laughed, a harsh, biting thing. “Your house wasn’t a fucking husk, then! And they may have had you go through your first moon, but Talia spent hers down there! As did Peter and Jonathan -- so I think my house would work well for him too!” 

“If my parents liked it so much, why didn’t they ask for us?” Derek challenged, his voice slightly raised. “Or why didn’t they say shit about you to us?” 

It was like a slap to the face, “Oh, that’s low, you --”

Scott came out, hair still dripping, looking between both of them. “Why didn’t we ask me? I like it here, I like Stiles. And he’s got a point, it’s safer here.” 

Derek snarled at him, a complete release of emotion with the fangs and eyes and all. It shocked both of them, Scott taking a step back. “The full moon is important. It makes you so much more dangerous, and should be spent with pack. Not like he would understand.” He cut his eyes over at Stiles, who glared right back. 

“If I’m dangerous, then I should be in the most secure place. And Stiles is pack.” Scott’s voice and heartbeat didn’t waver. Stiles felt his metaphorical heart swell, a warm feeling making him light and buoyant. 

“Stiles is a vampire.” Derek’s voice was hard. It was like he didn’t want to necessarily say that he wasn’t pack, but it was clear that was his intent. 

“Okay, let’s have a vote.” Stiles said loudly, throwing his arms up. “Who wants Scott to be chained up in a house filled with ash, known by hunters that it used to contain werewolves?” Derek didn’t raise his hand, but it was probably because of phrasing. “And who wants Scott to be chained up here?” Stiles threw up his hand, as did Scott. He smirked triumphantly. 

Derek ground his teeth and left, but there was no argument. And two days later, Scott was chained downstairs. Derek stayed down there, and asked -- more like commanded -- Stiles to wait upstairs. He spent a majority of the night reading and listening to Scott cry. 

In the morning, Stiles crept downstairs with the key. Derek was slouched on the ground, sleeping -- it was a strange sight to see, with his eyebrows lax and his mouth looked soft. He seemed somewhat at peace. Scott, on the other hand, looked worse for wear. There was a little bit of blood on the floor and chains, and his shirt smelled like a pit stain even from this far away. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair looked greasy. 

Stiles walked up to him first and shook him awake. He blinked blearily, “Is it over?” 

“Yeah, dude, I think so.” He smiled at the werewolf. “You can have first dibs on the shower, and there should be some pjs in the spare bedroom. I already called your parents to let them know you didn’t feel well.” Scott stretched his arms when the chains came off, his shoulder popping, before standing up to leave. Stiles watched him go up the stairs. 

Derek opened his eyes before he had a chance to shake him awake. They stared at each other for a few minutes and Stiles knew that he had been awake for him unlocking Scott. He finally broke the gaze, his eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully as he got up and left Stiles in the basement.  
\--  
A few days later, Scott found his anchor. He was in, by far, his best mood that Stiles had ever seen, mainly because he had worked up the courage to ask Allison out for bowling. Nothing that Derek did that day got through to him. They even took it out back so he could push Scott around a little bit, but not once did he rise to the bait. 

Stiles had bought brownies a few days before, mainly as something sweet for himself, but declared a celebration in order. They all ate brownies, and Stiles made Derek stay for one game Injustice -- where he totally beat his ass as Batman. Derek just rolled his eyes and said, “Try me in the real world, and we’ll see who’s the winner, Stiles.” 

But he smelled content, and there was a little ghost of smile on his mouth so Stiles counted the day as an overall win. 

While Stiles is driving Scott back to his house, they end up on the topic of his self-control. “Do you think that next month, you’ll be able to be off the chain?” The sun had already set and the sky was purple. The night was cool, on the edge of winter and the air felt soft around them. 

“I don’t know.” Scott answered honestly. “I mean, I didn’t really feel aggressive… It was more like a desperate need to get out, you know? It was like someone was calling me.” That caused Stiles to slam on his brake, because how had they not thought of this before? The car behind the honked at them, which caused Stiles to start creeping along. 

“What the hell?” Scott had thrown his hands out to catch himself, jarred by the stop. 

“Scotty -- that’s genius!” Half of the full moon was waiting anxiously for an alpha to attack another unsuspecting person, or the house. If he was out looking for the beta he turned, then obviously the beta would want to go to him. “You’re tied to the alpha, right? He’s your alpha, whether you want him or not -- it’s simple biology for you to want to be near him, to be close to pack.” 

“You’re my pack.” Scott said stubbornly, probably not grasping what Stiles said at all.

“Thanks, and I love you too, but,” Stiles took in a deep breath, “This connection you’ve got to the alpha could lead us right to him. We’ll figure out who they are and then, then.” He frowned. He wasn't necessarily on board with killing anyone, but this alpha did kill Laura. And turn someone against their will. Stiles mostly wanted to know why, but that would definitely not satisfy Derek. 

Stiles shook his head. “First, lets focus on figuring out who he is. I’ll run my theory by Derek, okay?” He pulled into Scott’s driveway, putting his Jeep in park. 

“Alright. What are we going to do when we find them?” Scott looked up at his house, seemingly fearful of the answer. 

“I don’t know. I mean, it doesn’t look so good for them. They turned you without asking, and probably killed Derek’s sister. I don’t think it’s safe for them to be around Beacon Hills, but.” 

“Derek might kill them if he finds them.” Scott said resolutely. “I think we could handle getting them to leave on our own.” His eyes bore into Stiles, a well of sincerity and kindness.

“I’ll try my best to convince Derek that violence isn’t the answer.” Stiles promised him, knowing that it was empty. The older werewolf was probably only still in town to deal with his sister’s killer. 

Scott stared at him for few more minutes, probably trying to gauge how honest he was being. He nodded before getting out of the car. Scott didn’t say anything when he left, he just walked up to his house. It left Stiles with a sense of unease, like he had somehow let the kid down, but he still reversed out of the driveway and went home without attempting to find out what was wrong. 

The night was young and Laura was on his mind. He wondered if she was like her mother, or maybe the father that Stiles had never met. Was she supposed to be alpha before everything went to hell? Did she ever figure out which group of hunters set the fire and how? Did she ever get revenge? 

He rarely came near the Hale house, out of respect for the dead. However, tonight he could respect one fallen wolf by going over there. She was probably buried underneath some wolfsbane, that had burned Derek’s hands to plant but had shown the love and devotion he held for his sister. He wondered how rites of passing worked when there was only one wolf left and half the body was missing. 

Stiles walked towards the house. Would Derek be home? Would he tell him to get lost -- and should Stiles have brought something to pay respects? When he got near the burnt remains, Lydia was standing in front of it. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, wondering why she was all the way out here.

“Lydia?” He asked softly, near the tree line and inching closer. She showed no indication that she had heard him. Derek must have been out, doing who knows what, or else he probably would’ve come out to scare her off. “What’s going on?” 

He kept stepping closer, the longer Lydia kept her back to him. Part of him felt like she wasn’t real, that it was very much a trap, but he could smell her scent wafting near him. When he reached close enough, he could feel her warmth. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. 

Lydia blinked several times, a dazed looking slowly slipping off her face and being replaced by confusion. “Is everything okay?” He asked, because banshees didn’t just show up random places. 

“Something bad happened here.” She responded solemnly. 

“Yeah, it’s the Hale fire.” Stiles said, letting her come back to herself. 

She shook her head, “No, not that. Something else, something new.” Her eyes went to a far off place, and Stiles resisted the urge to shake her. Banshees were like sleepwalkers, right? Don’t wake them up. Lydia turned to him, gripping his arm hard. “Something bad is going to happen here. Stiles, something bad is going to,” She started gasping, clawing at his arm. 

“Okay, okay, I understand. I understand, Lydia.” He spoke to her gently, prying his arm away from her. “I’ll tell Derek to keep a lookout, and I will too. We’ll keep our distance, it’ll be okay.” Stiles soothed Lydia. 

He ended up driving her home, noticing how she was just in a night shirt and no shoes. Stiles was half tempted to carry her through the woods to his house, but didn’t know if that would cause a shock to her system. She wasn’t helpful in giving directions at first, but when they got back into town Lydia seemed to wake up a bit. Her eyes were still a little unfocused, but she pointed the right direction. Stiles was going to ask her if she needed him to get her parents, but she climbed out of his car and shuffled towards the door on her own. It made him feel slightly uneasy, but he guessed that was probably something anyone would feel around a banshee. 

Stiles drove home, taking a few detours just to stay in the city for a few minutes longer. He didn’t normally enjoy the city at night, the grime illuminated from the orange glow of the street lights, but the woods felt empty, and he felt jittery going back to pay respects to Laura now. It was after three when he got back to his house, too late for him to hunt down a werewolf that actually had to rest. He resolved to tell Derek the next day about the trouble, first thing after school. 

However, he didn’t have to wait that long, because just as the sun began to peek over the trees, he heard a thump on his back door. Stiles, who had been reading in the living room, cautiously set his book down to figure out what was within his circle of protection. He crept slowly into the kitchen, glancing from the table up to the glass doors. 

There was blood dripping down it, as if someone had tried to use it for balance and had failed. Stiles dropped his gaze down to the patio, seeing a crumpled, very much bleeding Derek slumped on the ground. The sound that came out of him was halfway between a shriek and a gasp, as he rushed to push the door open. “Oh, god, what the fuck happened? Derek?” He grabbed the werewolf, hauling him into the kitchen. He sat him at the dining room table, Derek’s eyes struggling to stay open. 

“There’s hunters in town.” He grunted out, holding his arm. Stiles peeled off his fingers to see the damage, and there were purple, black veins crawling down towards his elbow and up towards his shoulder. 

Stiles flinched back, “Shit, can you come back from that?” He whispered. Derek cut him a glare, which made Stiles actually feel better. He at least knew that the werewolf wasn’t in the grave yet. “Okay, we need to tie something around it, to cut off blood flow to that arm. Your body will slow the infection that way. Do you know what type of wolfsbane they used?” Stiles was rattling off things he knew from his time in wars, short stints of him being a doctor’s aid. 

Something clatters onto the table, and he looks at it. It’s a fraction of a bullet, silver with a distinct set of vines wrapped around the bottom. “Got the bullet, some of it out. Need another to heal.” Derek responded with some difficulty. His skin looked pale, sweat beading on his forehead and his eyes holding a dark look. “Might have to cut my arm off.” 

“Okay, okay.” Stiles was a man of absolutes, just like Derek in some regards. It was better to lose an arm than lose a life. “Can you grow back from that?” He asked, realizing Derek might not have to choose between the two in the long run. 

Derek just shook his head, pulling in a rattling breath through his teeth. His jaw was clamped shut, and it was probably the only indication that Stiles was going to get that he was in pain. “So it’s the last resort. I’ll get my hand saw from the basement and something to wrap your arm around.” Stiles didn’t often use his speed to his advantage, having spent decades perfecting on how to blend in with humans. Allowing himself the luxury of being supernatural at home could make him lazy in the long run. And that wasn’t something he could afford. 

However, that didn’t stop him from rushing to grab the things he needed, unsure why he was so terrified that Derek might die. Derek was swaying in his seat when he got back. Stiels touched his shoulder, mostly to jolt him, before setting the saw down and working on his arm. “Where did this happen? Do you think they’re still there?” 

He made sure to get the tourniquet painfully tight. “Hale house.” Derek’s hands were shaking. His hands were shaking so bad, even as he tried his best to keep from showing his fear and pain. Stiles didn’t think about holding onto one of his hands, squeezing it to be reassuring. Derek felt cool even to him. 

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” Stiles said, holding eye contact with Derek. For the barest moment, he looked vulnerable and hurt, and oh, god, Stiles couldn’t abandon him either. “I’m going to check out the Hale house, safely of course. I’ll check to see if any of these bullets are in there and just didn’t hit you. I’ll check to see if the hunters are still there. If not, I’ll track them, to find a bullet.” He paused, making sure Derek understood him. “If the veins go past your elbow, or further up your arm, you’ll have to amputate.” A sound was ripped out of Derek, and Stiles squeezed his hand tighter. He wished he could take his pain, like Scott showed him once. “You will have to amputate. Can you do that, Derek?” 

Derek looked torn for a second, hesitant and afraid. He looked so much like his age, unsure. After a minute, he resolved himself, nodding. “Good, this is the switch to turn it on. Grip the other edge of the table with your bad arm to hold it down. You’ll probably cut into the table, that’s okay. Afterwards, run it under the water, just to make sure no infection stays. I’m going to do my best to find these guys, to get a bullet.” His jaw wavered for a second. “I’m going to find a bullet, even if you have to amputate first. So the infection doesn’t spread. Now, how many hunters were there?” 

“Three, just three. The woman hit me.” Stiles nodded, it was easy enough to distinguish the chemosignals males and females leave. He dropped his hand from Derek’s, patting down his jeans. It would be stupidly sexual, if Derek wasn’t bleeding out and didn’t hate Stiles’ species. Instead, he found his phone, flipping it on. 

“I’m going to call myself on this, and it will stay on until I get back.” He opened the screen, the one thing in Derek’s life that wasn’t password protected and dialed himself. Stiles placed it on the table, the opposite side of Derek than the handsaw. Then he pulled his own phone out and accepted the call. “I've got to go now, okay? Everything's going to be fine.”

Derek was shaking, a rhythmic slow drip of blood still sliding out his wound. Stiles wanted to dress it, clean it up, do more for the current situation but he was on a severe time budget. He turned to look at the werewolf one last time, wondering if he really had the gumption to saw off his own arm. 

Stiles rarely used his speed. It was poor form, and he couldn't afford to accidentally slip up in front of a human. This, Derek was in a time pinch however, and he could make exceptions. The Hale house came into his vision in record time, the smell of gunpowder and wolfsbane floating out through the doorway. Going inside showed no bullets that weren't utterly broken by being lodged into something, none of them containing enough wolfsbane for him to fix Derek up. Plus, there was only two that matches the original bullet -- but the house did allow him to catch the women’s scent. It was cloying, a sugar that had burnt and dominated the senses. 

They took off on foot, at least for a bit. Of course, Derek could hear a loud, obnoxious car much further out than three stealthy hunters. The trail ended near the dirt road, on a patch of grass obviously flattened by some tires. If he was a wolf, if they weren't carrying so much wolfsbane, if the car probably hadn't been used for shit like this since they started, he may not have been able to track it. But all those ifs were irrelevant, because all of them were wrong. 

The car was driven to a storage unit, which made sense. It was probably some hulking, black monstrosity meant to carry their whole arsenal. The woman got in a car by herself, up in the front parking lot, before driving further into the city. Stiles was going to try and track the gas fumes, because the scent of wolfsbane was in much smaller traces on this car. However, he wasn't expecting a Prius, which made him snort because he had never heard of an environmentally conscious hunter. 

It was day time, and so people would be out. No matter how shaky his body felt, how fearful, he had to keep himself at a jog around others. It also helped that Stiles had to go slow to make sure he kept on that faint trail of wolfsbane.

He wished he was this capable to track scents while he was in his Jeep. A couple of folks looked at him strangely as he loped down several city streets, maintaining the same jog like it was nothing. However, none of them looked alarm, so he at least knew he was pulling off hurrying human right instead of slow supernatural. 

The scent lead him to a nice neighborhood, with three houses laid up next to each other and then a space before the next set. Each house had a driveway, and a sliver of a back yard. This was where the rich of the city lived. Only one house had a Prius parked in front of it, and he could hear two heartbeats within the house. 

Stiles didn't want to test his steel against one, quite probably two hunters, but he couldn't wait forever for them to leave. He hid around the side of the house, bracing himself to crawl up to a window and try to break in quietly when the front door opened. He froze, terrified that the woman had already heard him. Instead, she was talking to the second person.

“I promise I won't interfere too heavily here, Chris. I only came because Dad said you might need some help with a few omegas, and that there's an alpha on the loose.” They also knew about the alpha. Did they know about Scott? Oh, god, what if they knew about all of them -- why hadn't they come to kill Stiles yet? “Plus I really like seeing my niece. You don't bring her around enough.” 

The man -- presumably Chris -- sighed. “I already move us around too much. I'm not going to try and figure out where you are one month just to bring her to a different location the next.” 

Stiles heard the car door open, and he wasn't sure if they were just grabbing something, or if they were going somewhere. And if somewhere, then how long? The engine started up, wheels crunching against the gravel. He waited until he heard the car turn down the road before scaling the house.

In a hunter house, there was a chance he'd have to break one of the windows to get in. Most of them had the place laced with wolfsbane and mountain ash, but rarely anything to prevent a vampire. The third window he tried worked, which means someone in the family was a little careless. 

He bets that it's the woman that let an injured werewolf escape. 

However, once he stepped into the room -- walls a light pink and a purple carpet -- Stiles pulled in a breath. Allison's scent fills his lungs, catching him off guard. He swirls around the room, stopping when he sees a desk with a cork board over it. There's maybe fifteen photos of Allison, sweet, smiling Allison. 

“Oh no, no, no, no…” Stiles clutched at his skull, feeling like now was a poor time for a breakdown. He pulled in three sharp breaths, the rhythm helping him. After a few minutes, he had managed to compartmentalize it as “shit that is not the pressing issue.” 

Stiles went to her door, opening it gingerly and breathing the hallway scents in. A door on the other side of the hallway had the older woman’s scent the strongest. It also smelled slightly like cleaning product and detergent, so it was most likely the guest. He crept down to the door, expecting it to be locked and shocked when it swung open easily. 

He peered inside, her overwhelming scent giving him a headache. Underneath it was the scent of wolfsbane, not enough that a human would be able to detect it. Possibly not enough that a wolf would be able to detect it. It was coming from underneath the bed, so Stiles got on his knees to pull out a moderately sized black box. It was somewhat heavy, almost definitely full of arsenal. 

There was a lock on the box. Stiles groaned, realizing that of course it couldn't be that easy. The key probably hung around the woman's neck day and night, and there was no way to open it without her knowing. 

Derek's voice came in tinny through his back pocket. Stiles startled for a second, having forgot that they were on the phone. He fished it out, cradling it to his ear. “Derek? Is everything okay?” 

“Hurts, did you find it?” He panted. Stiles didn't hear the sound of the chainsaw going though. 

“I think I found it, yeah.” Stiles knew a werewolf would claw it off, but he didn't have claws. So instead he started squeezing the bottom until the hole popped out the lock. “How's the arm looking buddy?” 

Derek just groaned, a sound close to a sob escaping him. Stiles pushed the lid open when the lock gave, noticing a small handgun and seven bullets laid perfectly in a row. They all matched the three others he found. He plucked one, knowing that this deed wouldn't go amiss with the hunters. “I'm on my way. Just hold on, Derek.”

The jog felt like it took an eternity, after he carefully put everything back to as close to as it was before. People stared at him, forcing him to not to go into a full on sprint. It was probably less than an hour since Stiles had left Derek when he got back to the house, but so much could have changed. He found himself copying Scott, lifting his nose to see if he could discern if Derek had amputated yet. 

Stiles threw open his front door, the handle banging against the wall loudly. “Derek, I've got it!” He scurried into the kitchen, vaulting over the couch in his haste. 

Derek was slumped over the table, arm intact, but hand holding lightly to the saw. He was largely unresponsive -- and honestly, how could Stiles have expected him to be present enough to cut off his own arm? Stiles pushed him up in his seat, saw the light kind-of-hazel and kind-of-not eyes swish lazily under mostly closed lids. He forced Derek to stay upright, using his forearm while he unscrewed the bullet. The wolfsbane tumbled out, falling in a thick line like cocaine. Derek fell slightly forward again, his breath ragged from the pressure on his lungs, as Stiles dove over to the cabinets to find a lighter. He pulled one drawer open, the contents all sliding to the front. 

Three lighters. All dried out and useless. Stiles cursed, upset that he was so lazy when it came to fixing up his homes when he floated through them. Another drawer contained matches which -- perfect, it was perfect. He grabbed them, hands shaking as he forced himself to hold the flame over the wolfsbane. It went up in a plume of smoke, leaving nothing but the ashes to be buried in Derek’s wound. 

The werewolf scream roared when Stiles shoved the slightly burning ashes into his bullet hole, eyes lighting up a violent blue and his body giving a powerful wrench upwards. It was like he was electrocuted back into the living. He still looked sweaty and shaky, but after it was done, Stiles could hear his heartbeat start to become firmer. 

“Hey, the bathroom’s down the hall, closer than my room. You can clean yourself up and get some rest. Scott shouldn't be here for a few more hours.” Stiles was leaning over Derek, watching him anxiously. It brought up a tight feeling in his chest when he thought about the werewolf leaving like this. How vulnerable he could be. 

Derek looked up at him, face open for once, staring, staring at him. Stiles blinked, afraid to break eye contact for some reason. It lasted for a few minutes before Derek nodded and made to stand. Stiles darted back, somewhat off balance as he gave the werewolf room. “Thank you.” He said quietly, before leaving the room. 

“Anytime.” And Stiles was surprised to realize he actually meant it.  
\--  
Stiles’ original plan was to sit down and have a chat with Scott, but when he came in, slightly sweaty and talking about how he met Allison’s family over dinner last night, something broke. He took the werewolf and slammed him hard to the ground. Vampires were not as strong as werewolves, but Scott was caught unawares. The air flew out of him, mouth open in shock. 

“Do you have any idea how stupid you've been?” Stiles shouted, glaring down at the boy. 

Scott threw his hands up, no claws or fangs, and looked genuinely terrified. It was as if he forgot that he could take Stiles. “I'm sorry, dude -- were we not supposed to meet today?” 

“No, you idiot! You could have killed Derek?” He knew his frustration was making communication harder, but the idea that any of them could have gotten hurt because of Scott’s ignorance made his -- yes, it was technically his now -- blood boil. At the same time that he said that, the guest room door swung open and Derek padded out. He still had his jeans and shirt on, but his shoes were off and his hair was a ruffled, damp mess. He looked at the both of them in the living room, blinking blearily. 

“What’s going on?” Derek’s voice got increasingly sharper the further in the sentence he got. It was almost like he had to wind himself up to be the stone cold werewolf that he acted like. 

Stiles threw his hands up, turning towards Derek while Scott pulled himself up and around the couch. The action didn’t escape his notice, but the younger beta would be safer away from him right now. “Well, gee, I found out where the hunter that put a bullet in you lived -- with Allison.” He shot a glare straight at Scott. 

Scott’s face went slack for a few minutes, going pale at the mention of Derek almost getting shot. “Someone shot you?” He asked Derek, pulling his hands into his body. 

Derek looked between them, jaw twitching, before nodding. “What’s Allison’s last name?” 

Blinking, Scott responded. “Argent -- is that important?” Stiles, watching the interaction to calm down, groaned. He could feel a pit of unease sinking in his gut, and it was going to stay there until the hunters moved on or he did. 

“You’re dating an Argent.” Derek deadpanned. 

“Well, we aren’t really dating yet -- I mean like, she’s great, but,” And Scott, true to form, started fucking smiling. A blush spread across his cheeks and Stiles could feel his own blood pressure spike. 

Derek snarled. “An Argent is the person who killed my entire family, by getting into a relationship with one of us. They’re hunters, and to be around one is stupid and dangerous.” 

“Allison’s not like that!” Scott said, affronted. He was actually offended that someone would think an Argent might wish harm to a werewolf. “Besides, I didn’t know her family were hunters, and neither did you!” 

He pointed at Stiles, dragging him into the conversation as well. “No, I didn’t, but I also didn’t get her last name.” Stiles felt foolish when he remembered the distinct mistletoe in her scent, but plenty of humans had it as an undertone. “I mean, for Christ’s sake, it’s silver in French! Their family is the reason why there’s a myth that silver kills werewolves, Scotty.” 

“Allison isn’t like that. She’s a nice girl.” Scott was still on the defensive. Derek blew air out of his nose, hard, probably wishing that this beta wasn’t the closest thing he had to pack. 

“They seem nice, that’s the point.” Derek shot back. 

Stiles’ brain was catching up with the implementations of a hunter knowing about Derek. “You had dinner with her last night. Did you say anything about us?” He looked at the guilty expression on Scott’s face. “What did you say about us?” 

“I said that I spend a lot of time hanging out with you two around the woods. Nothing about us being supernatural.” 

“No, but you must have mentioned Derek’s name -- a surviving Hale would be enough to get any of them to check out the woods.” Stiles walked towards the kitchen, turning around and walking to the couch, before walking back towards the kitchen. “Which means you mentioned my name.” 

Scott’s face didn’t deny it, and as much as vampires were typically solitary, Stiles was officially in the shit with both of the wolves now. There was no running from this.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic on this particular account. I would love to hear what you think about this chapter -- comments are appreciated. However, I do have comment moderation on because the last account I had had to be deactivated b/c a lot of folks would post "criticism" without any "constructive" going on, and it made me really depressed and stopped writing. I think being able to decide what stays on there for me to look at when I look back (proudly) at my stuff would be super helpful in preventing that. If you have some CONSTRUCTIVE criticism to help me, I'll gladly post that. 
> 
> Anywho, I'm gonna try to post once every two weeks. It may be a little hard for me, because of school, but I'll do my best to keep up with that! thanks a bunch xx


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